


Puer Deus

by The_Torturer_Writes



Series: Puer Deus [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 404: Ben Solo Not Found, Beating, Biting, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Caning, Canon Divergence - Star Wars Expanded Universe, Choking, Cutting, Dirty Talk, Dominant Kylo Ren, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Flogging, Forced Surgery, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo, Kylo Ren - Freeform, Kylo Ren Imagine, Kylo Ren x Reader - Freeform, Masturbation, Medical Torture, Murder, Possessive Kylo Ren, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Sadist Kylo Ren, Star Wars fanfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence, Wound Fucking, kylo ren smut, kylo ren x you - Freeform, kylo smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: A weapons trader, you’ve been captured by the First Order. Convinced you know where the Resistance has gone, you have attracted the dangerous attention of Commander Kylo Ren, the most dangerous man in the Galaxy.Will you survive his dark attention? Do you want to?
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Series: Puer Deus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659217
Comments: 170
Kudos: 234





	1. Captured

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ADULT fic. Please behave accordingly. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured and caged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take the content warnings seriously. This is a graphic, adult work.

Day One

Consciousness crept back in with sound first. Your lungs burned on jagged edges with each inhale and exhale. You focused on it, willing the pain to ease and trying to ascertain if there was a gurgle to indicate injury. Pain on the inhale - bruised rib, perhaps broken. No puncture. 

You heard a steady tick, tick, tick, tick, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. Forcing your eyes open, you took in your surroundings. Holding cell. Captured. Fuck. Your fingers curled around new and heavy accessories at your wrists. Manacled, too. Fuck fuck fuck.

Your body protested as you pushed yourself up from the cold, industrial floor. You’d been tossed in like a sack of root vegetables, and the cold and soreness of it seeped into your bones. Upright and not as dizzy as you expected, you began to assess your body’s situation further. You wiped blood away from your mouth -- that was the tick, tick, tick. You’d been bleeding on the floor. The liquid of it told you that you hadn’t been there for long. Toes moved, fingers moved, vision not spotty. So far so good.

And then it struck you. Panic. 

Your gear, your equipment, your weapons -- everything had been stripped away. They’d even taken your fucking boots and socks. Shooting onto your knees, trembling fingers began to travel the black catsuit you always wore under everything. For whatever reason, they’d seen fit to leave you with it, and it was, mercifully, intact. The fabric covered every inch of you save face, hands, and feet. Gratefully, your head dropped forward, and you slumped, thanking the universe for tiny favors.

The universe’s mercy ran out, however, as the door hissed open and in stalked Commander Ren. This was not how you expected your day to go, and your head sunk lower. This was not going to end well.

“You’re awake.” 

The false voice echoed in the chamber. There was nothing to soften the blow of it in this furniture-less hole. Kylo Ren took up every bit of space with his existence, the very reality of him vibrated around you.

Drawing in a long breath, the smell of fumes and steam so heavy in the air you could taste it, you lifted your head and looked at him. You gave a single nod. Yes, you were awake.

You made no other move to rise, crawl, shift, speak, or gesture. Ren had a reputation of being a notorious murderer prone to violent fits of rage, and you valued your life too much to test the theory of him. 

You did, however, take this time to study him from helmet to heel, using the span of his silence to observe him. He didn’t move. You could scarcely tell if he was breathing. But in the way that he stood, you decided that he was a man accustomed to being the focal point of everyone in the room. You couldn’t tell, though, if he was measuring you or waiting for you to speak.

It did not occur to you that your scrutiny of him was a threat to your well-being or situation, and you allowed your eyes to roam, linger. You knew they would squint and wrinkle at the corners as you tried to pick out details that would be helpful later. 

This wasn’t a love-struck gaze, nor was it a terrified one. This was the beginning of your education in Kylo Ren, and every detail was a lesson. 

In a blink, you were hoisted into the air by nothing, something unseen, the Force, you finally understood. His gloved hand curled into a fist, aimed at your face but not edging nearer. Lesson learned. The rumors were likely true. 

Both of your hands tightened into fists, and all ten toes curled as you strained, fought against the nothing, and tried not to flail and degrade yourself by reaching for something to hold onto that simply would never materialize.

“Don’t think to judge me, trader,” he hissed. 

Funny, you thought, how similar he made it sound to traitor. Were they the same in his mind?

His fist turned right and left, and you felt the shift of the Force against your body. You grimaced, lashes flattening against your cheeks, as its weight constricted your throat and chest, choking you as you dangled in the air. When the pressure stabilized, you opened your eyes. This was, it seemed, what he had been waiting for.

“I know you are not part of the Resistance.” The voice modulator made every word crisp but far away. 

Your eyes tracked him. He was a stalking black hole, and you were being dragged toward the event horizon. When he turned toward you again, you shook your head quickly, not daring to keep him waiting. No, you were not part of the Resistance.

“But you were selling them weapons. Trading with them. Were you not?” 

He moved at you, his every step weaponized and meant to disarm. He invaded your personal space with no compunction whatsoever, and your brow furrowed. Because though he was large and feral, cocked and ready to annihilate you at any moment’s whim, he also stole everything from you as he drew nearer - breath, thought, will to argue. The long lines of his body drew your gaze once more, and you screwed your eyes shut in response. 

The very presence of him roused appreciation in every part of you, and all of the saliva in your mouth vacated south, leaving you dry-mouthed but pressing your thighs together to stem the twinge that had started there.

The tightness around your chest increased, and you realized that you were taking too long to answer. You nodded your head once as best you could. Yes, you were selling them weapons.

As sudden as it arrived, the Force stripped away from you, and you hit the ground with a crash. Drawing in deep breaths, you rubbed at your sternum to ease the ache. You were certain, now, that at least one of your ribs was bruised, but the way you were devouring air without sobbing indicated to you that none were broken. 

Yet.

“Tell me where they are. Tell me where they are going.” 

You looked at him from where you knelt on the floor. Your torso was punched down from trying to breathe, and you had to cock your head to regard his helmet. Just as quickly, you looked away. What could you say? Pushing your aching body to your knees, you lifted back up slowly and leveled your gaze at him. It wasn’t a challenge, but you had no way to know if he would take it as one. You shook your head slightly.

The boot that connected with your chest was unexpected and unforgiving. With one kick to your sternum, he sent you flying backwards, and you came down hard on your head and back. On instinct, your shaking arms and hands came up to cover your head and face, protecting the most vulnerable parts of you, as he barreled over and began this new line of brutal questioning.

“ **Tell** ,” he kicked you hard in the stomach, causing you to wretch and gurgle, “ **me** ,” the large boot stomped at your backside, you twisted and tried to get away, “ **where** ,” he struck your hip, and your mouth hollowed in a silent cry, “ **they** ,” he kicked again at your sternum, your eyes bulging and watering, “ **are** ,” a final kick to the stomach came down, and you curled in on yourself, shrinking from the cruelty.

You fought for breath, rolling onto hands and knees like a wounded beast. You pushed a balled fist into your lurching stomach, the other splayed against the ground, holding you semi-steady. Your head dipped low and your shoulders shook, every part of you terribly aware of his closeness.

You tried to calm your frayed nerves and just breathe, but this man obscured all. He rolled through you, scattering turmoil in his wake. You dared a glance over your shoulder to find him watching you. He was the picture of calm. There was nothing to suggest he hadn’t just savagely assaulted you. 

Lesson learned. Kylo Ren was a violent, deranged, caged animal. Was there nothing you could say that he would accept, nothing you could offer that would satisfy him? Tearing your eyes away and back to the floor, you shook your head again. You had fuck-all to give, and you knew you would suffer for it. 

With another kick, he sent you careening onto your back. You tried to find purchase and scramble away, but he was too quick. That invisible weapon he wielded returned in full measure around your head. Lightning cracked, and alarm bells rang. Your eyes slammed shut as tight as they could, and your mouth opened wide, but you could not scream as Ren lashed out at your mind with the Force.

In an instant, it was gone, and you had crumbled once more to the floor, pain diffusing through you, pooling in aching joints. But your head felt somehow hollow now, the burden of him lifted away. Why did you wish it would return?

Pushing the heels of both hands into your eyes, it occurred to you that this was a show of aggression for your benefit only, to underscore that he would do to you whatever he wished. 

Your hands fell away, and your eyes dulled, losing the flash of fight. Lowering your torso to the floor, you attempted again to regulate your breathing. The stink of the grate under you, metallic, chalky, made you wretch. Lesson learned.

“Pathetic thing, aren’t you?” 

You nodded your head once. It was better to agree with him, you reasoned. 

He sneered and lifted his foot again. You tried to roll, to scoot backwards, but he was too quick, and the weight of that heavy boot landed directly on your chest, launching you into full-blown panic. The idea of him stomping out your life was too much to bear.

You squirmed and thrashed, failing to gain even an inch. Your face puckered terribly as you tried to slide out from under him. Somewhere in the bucking and failed contorting, your hands found their way to his leg, and you clutched it there. You felt the strong, corded calf underneath the pants fabric and clawed at it.

The Force sank into your throat once more, and you wheezed painfully, feet scrabbling out behind Ren in a last bid for leverage. But coupled with the weight of him at your chest, you were forced to do nothing but watch. You knew, now, why he expected to be the focus of every room. He demanded it, this Child God and his anger, and everyone gave it to him. Even you, pathetic thing.

Your strength to resist, to battle him was waning.

The fight ebbed from you, and you went limp, clutching fingers releasing their hold of him. Your brain stammered, lips moving in words that never made sound. There was not enough air in your lungs to even sputter. You decided that you were going to die here, and you wished that you’d seen his face before you did. 

You did not see Ren stretch his arm out to you again. You did not see his fingers clench and release as he tried to drill into your gray matter. You did not see him lean further down at you until his stretched wide hand hung nearly touching your nose and shaking with exertion. You did not see him rise back up to his full height and turn his helmeted head away.

What you did see, behind your stilled eyes, was the first time your Master had kicked you in the chest, the whip in his hand, and his intention to beat you bloody for running away. You did see the resolve in your young face, the first brick in this new foundation laid as you decided the only thing they could never take from you was your mind. And you did see the blackness that had become your friend and which you’d carried every day since then. You welcomed it.

In the distance, however, you heard the enraged, murderous roar that erupted from him when his attempt to break into your brain was met with nothing but darkness - no information, no memory. It was far away at first, in a vacuum, but the roar came nearer and nearer until you were back, head rattled and ears ringing. The extremely dissatisfied Commander Ren kicked your side again, punishment for daring to go where he could not chase.

“Get up.”

When you didn’t comply fast enough, his large hand fisted in your hair and wrenched you from your place on the floor. 

“Get **up** ,” he ground out and flung you forward until you were on your hands and knees again panting, drooling, crying.

“You won’t fucking talk? Fine. I’ll make another purpose for that empty mouth of yours.” 

You only had time to suck in a rickety breath before he had pulled you upright on your knees and stepped on the chain of the manacles, jerking you to him. You shook your head, pleading, bartering with the universe. Not this. Not like this.

Quivering lips smashed firmly together, and you leaned away. You tried to stand, you yanked upwards on the chain beneath his boot, but he was too strong. Your fingers curled and scrambled against the floor, and you threw your torso back, trying to rip free, unknowingly inching nearer to the wall. 

A black knee drew up to your chest to hold you in place while he maneuvered the fabric that always seemed to be billowing around him; and then, he was forcing the head of his cock against your tight lips. You struggled not to open them, but he shoved your head back against the wall viciously and took advantage of your ensuing disorientation to drive his thumb into the side of your mouth. He pinched the inside of one cheek until your mouth opened wide enough and began force-feeding you his dick. 

Kylo Ren didn’t want you to suck his cock, you knew. He wanted to take his rage out on your face, and your face would be lucky to survive it.

You were frantic now, fully captured by this beast and his complete lack of mercy. Still, you tried to fight, turning your head and trying to scrape your teeth against him. He snarled and let your mouth drop away only to throw your head against the wall with such force that your offending teeth clattered. Dizzy and wobbling, your eyes rolled back in your head, and you sagged into him. 

“Get your filth off of me, trader,” he sneered, and you reeled from it.

He slapped you, the leather dulling the sound to a thick thud, your cheek blossoming red. Whether it was to punish you or wake you, you couldn't tell. You tasted blood, the teeth that tried to wound him having turned traitor and cut you instead.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you up by the roots; and this time, your lips gave way to his intrusion. The taste of him was heady, tangy copper, sweat, and slick dancing on your tongue. Your blurry eyes closed because trying to focus on the black of his trousers only made your head swim. In your disconcerted state, you didn’t fully register what he was saying to you.

“The next time I tell you to speak, you fucking speak.” 

Ren surged inward and lodged his dick into your throat as far as it would go. Wrapping both large hands around your head, he hardly withdrew and pumped his hips against you, rough and callous, only at the back of your throat. He never retreated far enough to grant you relief.

You gagged violently, cheeks puffing out, teary eyes flying wide open. Drool bubbled up around his cock and dribbled from the corners of your mouth. Your mouth felt filled with sandpaper, and you felt as though you were swallowing glass. 

You had been reduced to sobbing, the only outlet left for your objections. This only seemed to spur him on, and he rammed into your face again, blinding you to all else but the fullness of your mouth, the way he fucked your tongue raw. 

When he finally pulled back, you heaved in breath and reached to disconnect the sticky saliva that connected your mouth to the end of his cock, but your hand only jangled in the manacle.

Your face felt blistered, branded by him, lips swollen and chapped, chin shining with ropes of drool. But like before, your head felt empty now. The absence of him pulling your face into a crumple with new, hot tears.

You were learning his body, his penchant for aggression, him. And you knew, somehow inherently, that this level of violence was reserved for a very select few. Why did you want that?

You gulped at nothing, still struggling with the inevitable, but you ached for something, anything, whatever bit of **alive** he would give you in this room. You did not notice that he was watching you, taking note of the war on your face.

He jerked your chin back to center and slipped his hand into your mouth, three fingers this time. The leather tasted of grime and polish, soap and chemicals. He slid them in past your molars, and your coughing earned a growl, a warning, but then also a release, a second’s reprieve to suck down breath.

“You will take it.”

Something had changed.

This new stillness in him shocked you to your core. You were becoming accustomed to the physicality of his anger, but the calm in this order completely terrified you. Your fingers stopped scratching, and the only roar you heard was your own blood rushing. You could hear the manacles jingling as your hands, your everything, quaked. 

Your red, bleary eyes opened upon him, and you nodded, once. His glove left your mouth, and you kept it open. Lesson learned. 

Ren's hips jutted at you, and he held the fat head of his cock aimed at your mouth, waiting to see if you were going to fight him again. You braced and willed yourself into stillness, relaxing your jaw to take him in and focusing your sight on the obsidian visor, certain you could feel the flames of the gaze behind it on your skin. 

The taste of him on your tongue was all salt now, the opalescent beads of arousal mixing with your saliva. Your tongue curled around the width of him, pulling that taste in more.

Further, he pushed in until that swollen crown nudged at the back of your throat, but he made no noise. There was no groan or heavy breath, and you found yourself lost for it. The stillness of him disarmed you into compliance, but the violence of him meant you heard his voice, the noises he made, his _will._ This was a new torture.

You shifted your knees wider apart and tilted your head to better accept him. The weight of his dick on your tongue sent a shudder down your back, and he occupied that last bit of your face, forcing the soft of your neck to allow him entry, until you could smell the fabric of his robes, artificial linen and earthen dusty, feel it tickling your nose, but you did not move. You knew he was testing you.

Kylo Ren had blurred out everything around you, turning your existence into empty space that only he could fill, and your vision contracted until there was only him. Only this. Only the taste of him, salty at the back of your jaw, musky and spicy on the tip of your tongue. 

You saw white spots but clung to the angry void of his helmet until it, too, began to turn to blackness, and your eyelids dropped down, down, down…

He slapped the unconsciousness from you again, and it echoed in the little room. Pain shot through your cheek bone, the explosion of it in your eye offset your balance. Slumping down into yourself, you shook your head to clear the ringing, but it didn't dissipate fast enough. Ren’s gloved fingers snatched your face. He hooked his thumb against your teeth, and pushed down sharply, prying open your jaw.

You tasted blood as he pushed that thumb down under your tongue, causing the saliva to pool, and you hummed deep in your chest. Your eyes flew wide open, and red blossomed across your bosom, licking up your throat, and turning your ears pink.

You hadn’t objected when he did it, but you hadn’t consciously decided that you liked it. Did you? You kept your eyes upon him and your head exactly where he'd placed it, even through your mortification, because you knew the consequences now. 

He held you still, peering down at you and watching the drool well up in your mouth. You could feel him moving, using his other hand to stroke and squeeze himself. Your eyes narrowed slightly that he would deny you seeing this, and you battled against yourself to not bite him, but you understood from the rough grip on your mouth that he wanted you to supplicate to him, to _worship_ him.

And you did. You breathed him in, and your chest stuttered. He smelled like ash and cold air, a sizzling black sun burning up everything in his wake. Surely, you thought, he would scorch you, too. Why did it entice you so?

You heard it then, for the first time since he’d entered the room, the sound of his breathing through the voice modulator, and you reveled in it. It was heavy, unstable, and lust-charged. 

You frantically searched the visor for a moment as you strained to better hear it. You had done that. You had **earned** that.

Your Child God was still a man, you thought, and a second later came your proof as you felt the warmth of his seed splash across and into your waiting mouth. He held your jaw open and watched as your tongue and throat worked, swallowing him as best you could. You could hear his breathing slowly return to undetectable as he watched the last of his release roll slowly down to disappear into the hollow cavern of your throat.

Lifting his boot from your manacled hands, he shoved your face away, and you slumped against the wall. You watched him turn and exit the room without another word. 

You knew you were going to be here as long as he decided to keep you alive, information or no. Whatever you might have known was irrelevant now. This would be your world. You would be the receptacle for his furor, a body to torment however he desired. 

You stayed like that for a long time, quiet, listening. You waited until the lights dimmed for the sleep cycle before you crawled over to the commode and wash basin in the corner of the cell, relieved yourself, and cleaned up as best you could, wiping away drool, tears, blood. You, again, checked your catsuit for any tears, cuts, or holes. Finding only minor rips in the fabric, none of them alarming, you shook loose a trembling breath.

The longer you could keep your secret, the longer you would stay alive.


	2. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In suffering, there is beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only 2 things I ask are these:  
> 1\. Please take the content notes seriously. This chapter is about violence.  
> 2\. If you have questions, ask me.  
> :)

Day Two

Tucked up into a ball in the farthest-most corner of your cot, you stared at the thick cell door. It had only opened twice since Ren exited through it yesterday, and that was only for food. 

Nothing had changed. Still captured, still manacled, still with no information to offer.

You had spent the night alternating between bursts of panic that he would return and arbitrary fits of sleep. The exhaustion was pervasive, and your limbs were leaden. Your brain was slow and foggy, and your mouth was chapped, cracked, and unbearably dry. 

You hadn’t eaten; and after a while, the food was reclaimed. You understood. There was no sense in waste. You had gone to the basin a few times to drink water, but no amount of it washed the taste of him from your mouth, and you gave up trying. 

Part of you didn’t want to let go of that taste, the reminder that you’d been alive yesterday, electric under the whim of a tyrant. You were caught in this frustrating double helix of relief and disappointment that he did not come. You willed your warring insides to just fucking pick one.

The emptiness in your stomach rumbled, and you tightened your hold on it, squeezing both arms tighter. You hadn’t consciously decided to hunger strike, but the idea of eating something he would likely make you vomit onto the floor was less than appealing. Laying your head against the wall, you closed your eyes and yielded to the white noise. The thrum of fans, maybe engines, lulled you into dozing.

When you woke, you searched for him in the room, but you were still alone. Reaching up, you pressed your palms, dotted with crescent-shaped bruises from your fingernails, into your eyes. How were you going to get out of here? You wracked your brain over that last arms deal, trying to recall any detail, any nuance, that you could use to your advantage.

Yesterday, you’d accepted that this would be your life, that nothing you could tell him would grant you freedom. After your brain rested, miraculously not concussed that you could tell, you weren’t so willing to surrender. This could not be your life, this one cell with its bare cot, freezing commode, and perpetually cold water in the basin. Rising, you paced off the quarters’ circumference, counting the steps, willing your addled cerebellum to work faster, better.

Santcha had done most of the talking, and you’d done everything else. Your lip curled in a sneer at the thought of that worthless bastard. You recalled that you’d watched as he talked with the defector and the woman, only half paying attention because you didn’t care about the Resistance. You only cared that they paid.

Stopping after the fifth circuit, you dropped your forehead into the wall with a thunk and pounded your fist on it in frustration. You couldn’t remember what they had said about where they were going. That was it. The fucking First Order burst in after that and sent them all scattering.

The whir of the door was your only warning; and in the half second that followed, you were driven further into the wall. The manacle chain was trapped beneath your breasts, and it nipped your skin, catching on the fabric. Your breathing kicked up, your thighs clenched, and you flexed your fingers against the wall, palms beginning to leave sweaty hand prints there. 

He was **here**.

But then there was nothing, and you balked under the weighty silence. Had the door closed? Had he stepped in? Could he feel the conflict within you? Was this your death sentence? Your mind pitched with all of the questions and possibilities.

Say something. Do something.

And then, the grenade that was Kylo Ren exploded.

He stomped on the basin in the corner with a snarl, nearly wrenching it from the wall, and you winced recalling how that was you yesterday under the weight of his boot. From the corner of your eye, you saw he lifted the paltry cot and threw it across the room. He wailed, but you couldn’t tell if it was anger or anguish. The helmet’s modulator strained to keep up with the boom of his voice and threw it in halting, choppy digital fits. 

You blanched at the swoosh of his ignited lightsaber, and you broke into a full-body cold sweat, holding your breath. But the weapon’s hellfire didn’t come for you this time, and you could only listen as he turned it upon the room. You heard the sizzle as the saber plunged into the wall, the smell of warping steel and melting plastic overpowering. The hum of it as he spun captivated you, It, too, sounded alive under his thumb. Did the fabled weapon crave it as you did?

Ren shredded through what you thought to be the cot and kicked apart its pieces. He gouged at the walls until you could see the ends of long black scars marring the otherwise bleary room. Black smoke rose in curling tendrils up towards the ceiling, and you chased it with your eye, wondering what path it took to escape that was closed off to you.

You had pictured him like this, a feral, stalking predator, hungry for something only found in the hunt. Throughout the night, you envisioned his long limbs and strong frame plowing through everything, everyone, in his path. Now, your eyelids danced with the idea, the absolute power of him, and the strand of you yearning for him lengthened just a bit more.

Sparks rained down on you when the offended red fire met the ceiling, power lines hung like angry serpents, and grates clattered down only to be kicked away. You felt certain the next burst of electricity would ignite you, and you licked your lips, feeling suddenly magnetized.

Drawn to **him**.

Whatever wreckage was to come, he made you feel alive in this moment.

Your forehead warmed the wall where you were pressed, a lone rivulet of sweat dripping down the very center. You were flushed all over now and grateful for the Force. It anchored you and kept you from facing the terrible cyclone raging behind you, regardless of how you wished you could witness it. It kept your face, your eyes, from betraying your mind under his scrutiny. 

Each of Ren’s vengeful howls and grunts was flanked by erratic breathing. The room smelled terribly of industrial carnage, and your chest tightened, inhaling the charred air. You wondered if he could smell it, too. 

His helmet hit the wall to your left, a spiderweb breaking into the paint from how hard he’d thrown it, and your lungs seized. Would he show you his face? You had also spent the night wondering how a man like this could look. Was he a man? Or was he truly a monster, part of him decimated the way he sought to equally pulverize the universe as his legacy?

The lightsaber’s constant static thrum cut off, ending your debate. You let loose the breath you had been holding, finally registering your chest tighten painfully in need. He had more regard for his lightsaber than his helmet, you thought, as he dropped it less angrily onto the floor.

Another moment of silence passed, and you shuddered, awed at how easily he rendered you incapable by doing absolutely nothing.

The eye of the storm had turned onto you.

You were not prepared. 

His gloved fist connected with the wall just to the right of your head, leaving a large indentation, and you flinched. The velocity of his punch was not lost upon you; but, a second later, you forgot about the show of brute strength when that glove was yanking your head back. He stuffed its counterpart into your mouth so far you nearly inhaled it and choked. 

He threw your head forward carelessly. Your jaw worked, still aching from yesterday’s vicious exercise, trying to maneuver the leather to a more comfortable position and to ease your tongue into a less awkward twist.

Had he seen the relief wash over you as he muzzled you?

That relief was quickly cut off as the Force manipulated you, Ren moving your body to his will. You grimaced as your forehead met that slick spot it had created on the wall again. Your feet were forced further apart, your stance widened. You trembled, recalling Santcha, recalling your Master. This could only be one thing.

The _shuck_ of his belt as it was pulled from his pants sent you into a frenzy. Whatever hunger you had for him perished, replaced by horror, devastated by your utter impotence to do anything but be his object.

You lunged forward and threw yourself back, but the Force held you. You jerked your head to the left and right only to have your forehead pushed even harder against the wall. He pinned you there like an insect.

And then, your manacled hands were forced up over your head, your body drawn into a long line, a **target**.

You were crying before it had even begun. You’d thought he meant to fuck you, but that thought died when he didn't step closer. The longer he took to close that distance, the more certain you were you’d been wrong. But were you relieved?

The silence of him frightened you more than his outbursts ever could, and this dead air was worse than any previous. Your very thoughts were frozen. 

You knew, without doubt, violence was coming for you, and there would be no quarter.

At the first ferocious bite of his belt, you forgot to breathe. You couldn’t exhale, and your chest spasmed. He had struck you with no hesitation, no buildup, using the wide strap as an extension of his massive arm, his viciousness.

There was no time to be shocked because the second blow landed, then the third. You strained against the bondage, trying to twist away. You concentrated everything you had into breaking that Force bond, willing yourself to be stronger than you actually were, but it held you, and you felt only that you would tear your muscles if you kept fighting. 

Angry ridges raised to life on your back, pulsing with the rush of your blood, your body trying in vain to keep up with the assault. Your heartbeat stuttered, anxiety coursing through you with no outlet, your only option to move your fingers and toes in an attempt to process the pain.

It was futile.

The strap came blistering down against your ribs, and your body suit tore under the abuse, not meant to withstand such a buffeting. Small holes burst in the wake of the heavy leather, and you keened for it, your safety, your cover. Once it was gone, you would be of even less value than you were now.

Sweat dripped down your face, stinging your eyes, corrupting the taste of the leather. You could smell it blending with your fear. You were boiling and shivering at the same time, your body unable to decide which pain response was appropriate and struggling to do both.

 _Strike  
_ _Strike  
_ _Strike_

Your universe narrowed to his belt and the pain it wrought. But there was nothing of him, no breathing, no cursing, no growling. He obscured even himself in this rage, and you felt untethered from this world.

You heaved and panted, arching and contracting as much as he would allow, a snake shedding skin as more of you peeked through the torn fabric. This new, uncovered layer was pink, red, and purple. It was angry, lamenting, and it bore bow-shaped blemishes marking the path of the hurricane. 

When the belt fell again at your backside, blood vessels burst, dotting the area with a constellation of plum-colored stars. At the small of your back, hot sweat pooled, the slick of it turning the strike that fell there to a swath of stinging needles.

Ren was relentless in his hysteria. He beat you from calves to shoulders. Every terrible punch of his belt was solid, never diminishing, and they came so fast you lost count of how many you’d taken. 

Crack  
 _Crack  
_ Crack

The endorphins reached their peak, and you drew in a faltering breath. Trembling fingers stretched upwards even as your body slackened. Bleary eyes fell shut and you stilled, silence blanketing your mind.

You let yourself fly, welcoming the darkness. It whispered to you, and you reached for that comfort.

_In suffering, there is beauty._

You swam in dopamine, epinephrine. Fear arguing with lust. Hazily, your brain offered up that he was again angered by your attempt to go where he could not follow because he roared, the first you'd heard of his voice without the helmet. 

Suddenly, the leather litany ceased, but you knew better than to believe you had yet suffered enough.

Something had changed.

You squeezed your eyes hard and tight as he snarled angry words you couldn't piece together. Bearing down on the glove, you thought you certainly could taste it, the last of his inhibition burning away. 

He was wallowing in sadism now, giving himself over to the headiness of its power.

The next collision came with the hard metal buckle walloping into your skin instead of the leather, and it slammed you forward. His hold on the Force was unsteady as he poured all of his anger into you and let himself lose control.

You choked and nearly coughed up the glove. You saw white spots behind your closed eyes and desperately tried to cling to clarity, consciousness. You had no idea what he would do to you if you passed out now, and you didn't want to find out.

In this new barrage, you counted five buckled shots, and you thought he had to have pulled them up from the very tips of his toes, each cresting harsher than the last. They cracked out into the room like lightning, and the thunder of them shook you to your bones. 

The adrenaline flight carrying you crashed, and you sagged against your invisible bond. Moist lashes moved sluggishly, eyes shining but unfocused. Your body was giving up, moving beyond acceptance and into defeat. 

Your gray matter could offer up nothing save that single repeated idea, one long ago adopted and cherished. It was your hymn, your supplication to the unknowable that helped you bear the weight of your past. And now, your present.

_In suffering, there is beauty._

You hung, suspended between this reality and the next, your only company the hammering of your heartbeat. It sounded to you that all the world was silent, except for your breathing and his. 

Kylo Ren had gagged the universe with his furor.

One last strike fell with the might of a bomb. He must have thrown the entire weight of his towering body into it because it exploded against you with such force that the buckle broke off and clattered across the floor. 

All of the air was forced from your lungs on a furious scream, but no sound traveled. Your back bowed so fiercely your hip bones smashed into the wall, toes turning white with the strain. You hiccuped and wretched, unable to bend forward even an inch so you could vomit the leather onto the floor.

Destroyed, you swayed piteously, head dropped forward, body limp and wracked with silent sobs, and finally allowed some respite. 

Your back was throbbing from the base of your neck to your ankles. You were one long exposed nerve, a constant stabbing from over stimulation. It reached up to even invade your brain, and you could manage no thought, nothing greater than existing from second to second. Even your mantra was stolen from you.

The welts and blossoming contusions painted an impressive span on your body. He hadn’t let loose his anger just on your back. It had slithered all around you to mark the sides of your arms, legs, hips. Your catsuit was gashed apart, hanging in disheveled ribbons at your back.

There were ball-sized hematomas rising where the belt buckle had struck. 

Each inhalation, each heartbeat, was an exercise in endurance, the strength of your will. Because every movement, no matter how small, set off another aftershock of pain, rippling fire down the length of your spine. It was all you had left, this resolution to breathe.

Your first thought as you came back to yourself was that this was victory. You were present. You had not been lost to unconsciousness.

You had **survived** him.

When he finally stepped away from you, his breathing ragged, you prayed that he was sated, his anger having run its course, but you did not hold your breath in hope. You did not try to move. You had learned the lesson yesterday. 

You did what objects do -- wait to be used again.

What did your Child God think of you in this moment, you wondered. 

Function returning, you listened as he moved around the room collecting his helmet, saber, and belt. He even pocketed the broken belt buckle. Not wanting to see him, you pressed your eyes shut tight. When you lost consciousness after he was gone, you would not likely remember having seen him, and you _wanted_ that memory, not a blurry half-truth you couldn’t trust.

At his departure, the weight of the Force finally lifted, but your body could not hold you. You crashed down onto the floor in a bruised and bloody pile, thankful that he had not turned his attention underfoot and taken the last solid surface upon which you could lie.

You used the only bit of strength you had to pull the glove from your mouth before you actually did swallow it to shake loose this painful plane of existence. Closing your eyes, you exhaled an unsteady breath, and succumbed to darkness.

_In suffering, there is beauty._


	3. Sustenance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl who could not say no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take the content warnings seriously, and please enjoy the spilling of secrets.

Day Three

You slept on the floor where you’d fallen. The cell was chaos, and you were just a speck in the debris. Three days with no food, little water, and two days of strenuous physical activity left you existing on fumes. When Ren departed yesterday, you fell into exhaustion, and that was where you’d remained.

Throughout the night, you drifted through fever, through memory, through darkness. You vacillated between too hot and too cold but made no effort to relieve either. During your conscious moments, you argued with yourself the pros and cons of dying on this floor.

The room, the fabric of reality, was hazy, still littered with smatterings of smoke, dirty air, and the smell of days' old sweat. You weren't convinced it was real when you heard the door hiss open; and so, you made no move to acknowledge it.

“Get up, trader,” Ren demanded. 

Your back was to him, but you were certain that you did hear his voice, and you tried to obey knowing it was better for you in the long run if you did. You had enough wits about you to accept that he would do with you whatever he wished, but your compliance could prolong this moment of quiet, this absence of suffering. 

Every part of you ached, but you uncurled all ten fingers and smoothed them against the floor, nudging away the glove you'd clutched through the night. Weary, you pushed both hands under your torso and tried to lift yourself up, but you were sapped of all strength and incapable, and you collapsed back onto the floor, head falling down, arms buckling beneath your breasts.

Time stilled. You concentrated only on your breathing and steadying its pace. Forcing open leaden eyelids, you surveyed the wreckage within your line of sight, evidence of the beating he’d inflicted upon you. This was the battlefield, and you were still alive. 

Weren't you?

You had to be. He was here, but you could in no way predict what that would mean for you.

You did not try to move again, deciding your preference that he murder you for insolence than to try to will your body past this exhaustion. But you felt an unfamiliar brush against the curve of your back, and you jerked away from it. 

The entire span of your body was still throbbing and bristling, and you wanted absolutely no contact with anything. It came again, though, and you cautiously, slowly reached back to feel for it, fingers brushing against the fabric of his cloak. 

You could smell his clothes, **him** , infiltrating the air around you, clean against the detritus, and the stress in your body eased slightly. Knowing where he was in the room grounded you, gave you a focal point. You could prepare if you knew where he was.

Ren crouched down beside you, and his gloved hands reached out to turn you gingerly to your back. His movements were deliberate, almost cautious. How strange, you thought, that he would be concerned for injuring you now. Stranger still, why did he not use the Force as he had previously done?

Both strong arms then slid beneath your body, and he lifted you up as though you were nothing more than cloth.

“Find out who is in charge of this cell. Now!” 

He barked the order out into the hallway, and you felt it vibrate through his chest. Inexplicably, you curled into it.

You tried to look around and count the turns as he carried you down numerous corridors, but your brain was still foggy, and you couldn’t retain any of the details. Giving up on figuring out where you were being taken, you tucked your chin down, curled your hands into your throat, and turned your face away from the world, burrowing further into the darkness. 

You felt weak, pathetic, and you shrank into yourself, all the way into the quiet dark of your mind, slipping away from him.

When you next awoke, you were lying flat on a smooth floor, and you took in a shaky breath, lips trembling apart, because it was cold against your burning back. Flattening out your palms gratefully, you basked in the coolness licking along the length of your body.

“Open your eyes.”

You didn't know where you were, but you did know that voice, crisp, unyielding. Inhaling a shaky breath, you obeyed and looked up straight at the ceiling until your eyes could maintain focus. Allowing your gaze to travel, you took in the mostly black room, the gloss of it shining odd against the darkness. There was only one light on, and it cast the figure speaking to you in shadow.

“I am told that you have been refusing food. Is this true?”

Your heartbeat froze. Suddenly more parched than you’d ever been in your life, you licked dry lips and stuck your eyes back to the ceiling. What could you say? You hadn't wanted to vomit on his dick, but you had to concede that it was a poor choice. 

Lifting your head slightly, you searched for him. Finding him seated in a small chair, presiding over you, you nodded your head once and prayed that he would see your silence as obedience given that he hadn’t specifically told you to speak.

This new proximity, the false familiarity of it, was agitating, and you fidgeted. Even on the first day, with your throat stuffed full of him, he was not this close. Close enough to _see_ you, you thought.

He stood, and you tracked him. You knew Kylo Ren was tall, but he absolutely towered over you where you lay upon the floor. This was the smallest, the most insignificant, you'd ever felt.

Struck dumb, you stared at his back, realizing that even in private, even in stillness, he would want you beneath him to worship.

The thought made your palms sweat and itch. You watched as he began to remove the layers separating him from the world. Gloves were tossed onto the large bed followed by cloak and what looked to be a tunic. 

The universe stopped. Your breath hitched, toes curled, because he was going to do it. You were going to see him, your Child God, and you nearly wept for it. 

The hiss of the helmet echoed in the near empty chamber, and you fought against yourself to remain still. You wanted, with everything, to sit up and look at him, but you knew better than to try your luck. In agony, you waited for him to turn around, to reveal himself, but he didn’t. He moved away from the bed, from you, further into the room.

You cursed the universe for being a tease, this room for being so damn dark, and yourself for wanting to look upon the monster so badly.

When you finally did see him, he was carrying a square silver tray in one hand, and your heart hammered, eyes rounding into glossy saucers.

He was magnificent.

You willed your addled brain to commit the details of him to memory forever. Your fingers curled into fists with how hard you tried to brand this moment into yourself.

He was beautiful and not at all what you expected. Your mouth fell open as you stared at the long line of his nose, the chisel of his chin, the smattering of dark color dotting his perfect skin. His halo was black but lustrous, and his mouth was inviting rather than grotesque.

How could this man be who he was? Certainly no person this beautiful could be a monster.

Ignoring your stare, he kicked your legs together, and they shook. You could not have stopped your body’s response even if you were Force capable, and you tried to scramble back, away from whatever he was about to do to you, bare feet planting and pushing against the slick floor that granted you no assistance.

“Stop fucking moving.” 

His command had bite, and you blanched, battling your body into some semblance of calm. He kicked your hands out of the way and stepped into the empty space created there, his boots massive and heavy. You pictured it on your chest, the weight of his will upon you, and bit your lip at the memory.

Ren bent down, came to rest on one knee, and set the tray on the floor with a slight clatter. It was food, and you nodded once. His question made sense to you now, even if the act of seeming kindness was alien, and you tried to roll to one side so you could eat.

You were shocked to your core when his trunk-like leg swung over your body and he settled his weight onto your abdomen, pressing your tender back harder into the cold tiles. You wheezed, face red and puffy, and your shoulders lifted from the ground. Both of your hands flew to his knees and pushed, but he didn't even acknowledge that you'd moved. 

You tensed all over, amazed and afraid for whatever was to come. Why was he suddenly compelled to touch you? Why did your every molecule scream out for him to do so?

You registered now that he was shirtless, and you stared, stupefied, at the freckles drifting down his neck and across his torso. You wanted to trace them, to connect them, and to see how far down his body they truly went. 

His knees and thighs squeezed in against your body, ending the roam of your eyes and the spin of your thoughts and bringing you back to the moment. Beneath him like this, you'd never felt so caged, so powerless. 

You doubted you would ever feel safe again. 

“Open your mouth.”

Remembering the last time he bid you to do this, your teeth sunk into your cheek roughly, and you shook your head, body wiggling in between his legs, trying to inch away like a worm.

You chastised yourself because you fucking knew it was pointless. You had learned enough of Kylo Ren to know you were here for whatever he wished, and it was fucking stupid to protest, but you couldn't stop fighting.

His large hand shot out at your face so quickly it stole your breath. Two fingers pushed past your teeth and wrenched your jaw down, opening your mouth. You vibrated, thighs clenching together, eyes squeezing tight shut. Why did that viciousness awaken you so?

The next thing you felt was cold at the back of your throat, and you coughed and sputtered. He was pouring water into your mouth but bypassing your tongue so that you were not allowed to actively swallow. You lifted up off the floor, gagging and shivering, only for him to push you back down and do it again. 

He held you at the chest and filled your mouth so full of water that it ran over the sides of your lips. You shook your head wildly and snorted it, shooting droplets into the air. He was going to drown you, you were certain. 

Your fingers scrambled against his thighs and you bucked up against him, swallowing as much as you could before convulsing, heaving, desperately drawing in air.

“Do you want to behave?”

His voice above you was different but no less harsh, no less terrifying. It was steady, absolute, and it twisted your guts, throwing out an order to the most sensitive parts of you that now was the time to throb, to ache, to be ready.

Damp lashes swept against the rouge flaming on your cheeks, but you did not look at him. Stealing as many seconds as you could, you drew in a ragged breath and shifted, attempting to find a place to settle that didn't hurt. 

Your body had registered the command; your breasts tightened, your clit pulsed in time to your heartbeat, and the juncture of your thighs was hot and damp.

He was leaning forward, looking down at you as though this was a routine interrogation tactic, as though he wasn't sending you into a frenzy with nothing but five words. You slid your hands back to his knees, unwilling to give back this bit of contact, opened your eyes, and flattened yourself against the floor with a nod.

“Open.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but you did part your lips slightly. The arch of his brow, however, had you opening your mouth wider. You watched him, trying to glean his plan from his face.

You were taut and ready to fight whatever he was about to do. You knew that he could feel it, but you couldn't make yourself relax, couldn't just let whatever it was happen.

Could you?

You weren’t prepared for the bit of bread that rested against your tongue, and your surprised eyes flew open wider, fixing upon him. He waited for your tongue to tentatively curl around his finger and accept it before his hand slid over your face to cover your mouth.

He didn’t trust you to chew and swallow, you realized.

Ren hovered, one large palm placed on the floor by your head. You could smell his soap, his shampoo, his breath, and you wanted to fist your hands into those long, black waves.

He was watching to be sure that you obeyed and swallowed the morsel down completely. When you'd finished it, he waited with a cocked brow, like before, until you opened your mouth again. 

He would alternate between bread and water, forcing the sustenance into your body, covering your mouth each time. He would also pause every few bites to simply slide his bare finger against your tongue, and your gut clenched, the muscle eagerly curling around to savor the taste of him.

“Supreme Leader Snoke tells me that I need to let go of my inhibition. He says that my reluctance to abandon the last shreds of conscience is holding me back.”

His voice rumbled out into the room, equal parts melodic and withering. But you had lost yourself to those dark eyes. They were golden sometimes, chocolate others. When you became distracted and stopped eating, his hand would press down upon your face roughly, forcing your head back into the floor until you came back to attention and chewed again.

“I did not understand how I was meant to do this until you.”

Now, you knew what this was. If you died, he could no longer torture you. You cannot play with toys you destroy. Panic spread across your face because the thought that he had been holding back these last two days sent you careening.

“Hurting you,” he nearly crooned, his voice low and thick, “cleared my mind.”

As though to punctuate this idea, he pressed your face down again, using his pinky to cap off your nostrils, smothering you with the expanse of his heavy hand. You bucked against him until he pressed his other hand down into your sternum, locking you to the floor and constricting your breathing further. 

He held you there, staring down at you with that beautiful, vengeful gaze, until your fit abated and you slumped, his hold loosening slightly to grant you a modicum of oxygen. 

“I’m going to keep you here, and I’m going to do to you whatever I choose. Do you understand?”

He watched you, searching your face for some glimmer that his words took hold. Tears sprang to your eyes as you searched his face, shaking your head under his palm. Pleadingly, both of your hands came up to circle his arm, holding on with a trembling grasp.

No.

This could not be happening. This could not be your life. You had already belonged to one madman; you could not accept that you would belong to another. 

The adrenaline surged through you, and you threw yourself up into him again, crashing your hips up into his. You clawed at his wrist and tried to bring your knees up into his back behind him, desperately trying to throw off his balance, his weight, something.

He released your mouth and chest and leaned back onto his haunches, watching you fight and twitch until you fell back against the floor, hands over your mouth trying to quell the sobs. You tipped your head back as far as possible, putting the only bit of distance between you and him that you could and straining against yourself because you knew this was futile. You were just draining away the bit of strength he’d fed you. 

Suddenly, Ren’s hand reached out and grasped your elbow roughly, pulling it to one side. He leaned over you again, pressing his body down against yours to further contain you. His fingers dipped down to turn your face, and you jerked back as though you were on fire. 

Shaking your head wildly, you tried to use your free hand to fill the distance between your throat and his eyes, but he pushed your hand away and captured your chin in a harsh grip. Jabbing your head upwards, he bared your throat completely, and your world broke.

With your chin pushed this far up, there was no hiding the damage, the jagged edges of scars stretching across the skin covering your larynx. 

His grip slackened slightly, but his gaze remained on your neck, fingers tracing the indentation. There was nothing to hide now, and you broke into a silent, mournful wail, pushing all of the air from your lungs on nothing more than a gravelly wheeze. He watched you descend into sobs, pressing your fists against your forehead. 

“No information to share, hm? Or rather, no way to share it?"

He planted his palm on the floor once more and roved his eyes over you, something flashing across his features, something you felt didn't bode well for you.

“Who did this to you? Are there more?”

Ignoring the first question, you nodded your head at the second. You were too far gone to do anything but obey now. Yes, there were more.

Raising himself back up, he tucked his warm fingers into the neck of your catsuit. You shivered at the contact, drawn from your dark mental hole by the touch of his skin. As though it was no more than tissue paper, he tore a long gash into the fabric down the middle of your body. 

Ren shifted his weight, lifting his body off of yours to lengthen the tear down into the valley between your legs. Your hands hovered in the air, trembling terribly, but you knew better than to try to cover yourself.

The skin he uncovered was riddled with scars of varying lengths, sizes, and depths. Some were perfectly round; some were long and slender. Some were tally marks etched deep into your skin. 

"So they wouldn't hear you scream,” he mused on a murmur. 

Your body was jerked against the floor, jostled from side to side as he ripped more of the fabric away to bear arms, hips, legs to his appraising gaze. His fingers brushed against a particularly large scar at your thigh, and your leg jumped.

It had been years since someone had seen the entirety of your body, and you turned away, trying to crawl out from beneath him. 

He allowed you to shift but pinned you back down on your stomach, pressing a knee against your bare arm so that he could tear the remainder of the tattered suit away from your backside. You heard his breath hitch as he looked down at the marks he’d left upon you mixing with those he hadn’t noticed yesterday.

You doubted it was pity.

His palm, large and hot, pressed down on your back, holding you in place as he pulled the catsuit off your legs and away from your feet. Pushing your forehead into the sweat-slicked floor, you covered your head with the untrapped arm, shaking with new sobs. 

What could he possibly think of you now? What sort of god would want a dirty and broken thing to worship him?

He knelt over you, and you wished the weight of him would return. It was easier to bear his scrutiny, however, when you could not watch him judge you. 

Kylo Ren had taken everything from you, even deciding when your secrets would be known. 

He moved you again, turning you back over to look up at him. His thumb scraped across your mouth, dipping in for a second, before he stood and lifted you from the floor. You pushed against his chest, but it was an insignificant attempt. 

You sniffled and hiccuped when he set you upon the little bench in the bathroom and looked away as he kicked off his boots and socks. You didn’t try to cover yourself while you waited for whatever torment came next. It would have been pointless to do so. 

Focusing your eyes upon the wall, you willed the darkness to come take you. 

The running shower filled the room with hot steam, and you focused on the sound. Were you to be his maid now? Wash and dry him after he beat you? You snorted and turned your head to the side, disgusted to admit that you were entertaining the idea, that the notion of it electrified you.

Ren threaded his rigid fingers into your hair, yanking you from the bench. Mouth falling open in what should have been a yelp, you pulled against his grip. Steps stuttering, weight askew and toppling, your shoulder crashed into him. Both hands reached out to grip at his hip as he maneuvered you into the little cell and spun you to face the water. 

“Put your hands there,” he said, pointing to the wall.

Swallowing your dread, you straightened, slowly reached up, and put your hands on the wall on either side of the water spray. It pulsed down just a fraction from your face, and you understood how easy it would be for him to just tip your head into the water and drown you. 

You couldn’t help yourself; the pull of the heat was too strong. You dipped your head forward and sucked in a long breath as the hot water rained down on your head and the back of your neck. You hid inside the curtain the water made around your face, lips parting open to breathe, eyelashes dripping fat drops of salty tears mixed with clean water.

When you felt his hand upon you, your whole body clenched, but you did not lift your head from the cascade, and he allowed you to keep it there. His fingers started at your shoulders, pressing in on your skin and squeezing. He then gripped the muscles beneath your upper arm, separating them and moving his fingers between until you leaned away with a grimace. You wondered if he was looking for further injury or a good place to cause more.

His hands slid up along the length of your arm, grasping along the muscles and the bones. When you would wince or jerk, he would take a second pass over that area, poking and prodding until whatever he was looking for was satisfied.

Ren slid his fingers into the watery curtain and wrapped them around your neck. You held your breath as he felt and squeezed your throat and then pulled your head back out of the water, taking away your hiding spot. Calloused hands traveled down your chest, examining each rib, pressing in at your sides.

Inspection, you thought. This was an inspection.

He turned his attention to the lower half of your body, squeezing hips, thighs, calves, and you bristled, flushing under his hands. You understood now that he was looking for occult injury, anything he couldn’t see plainly. 

Why did being evaluated like cattle set you aflame? You were tingling from scalp to soles.

Ren stepped fully into the shower chamber behind you, and your compliance faltered. You took a step forward, away from him. One hand dropped from the wall as you looked over your shoulder, worrying your lower lip. The dark look on his face gave you seconds to right yourself; and somehow, you managed it.

Moving your hair to one side, he ghosted his fingertips over the welts he’d raised with his belt just yesterday. He brushed his thumb briskly against a few spots, and you thought he had to be washing away blood that had crusted there. 

He splayed his large fingers over one of the hematomas coloring your ass and squeezed it until you were gasping, hopping onto your toes, and trying to dance away, something of an appreciative sound rumbling in his throat.

Capturing your hips in both hands, he pulled you back flush against him, shifting your ass right and left before finding the spot he wanted you, the round softness of you plastered against the hard expanse of him. He reached to wrap fingers around your throat again, and your breathing quickened, body tense.

He moved you by that choking handle until your head was pressed into his shoulder. You strained to keep your fingertips against the wall because he hadn't told you to move.

Your weight was pressed against him in two wicked points: the back of your head at his shoulder and the swell of your ass tucked into his pelvis. A long shudder worked its way through you; he was hard, and you were ready. Screwing your eyes shut, you tried desperately to banish that thought.

Ren's fingers tightened on your neck until you were on your toes trying to gain a little bit of breathing room. Reaching around you, he slid something from the little shower alcove and held it out for you to take.

“Wash.”

Soap. The man was holding soap, and you knew if you hesitated too long, he would shove it in your mouth. Fumbling, you reached out to take it, trying to move away from him, to lean forward for better balance, but he held you firm. He meant for you to do it pressed up against him like this.

The embarrassment blossomed from your toes to your ears, and your insides wilted. Had you passed inspection? Or was this test part of it?

Every single part of your body reacted to his command and the silent way he simply waited for you to comply. Your breath hitched, and you licked your lips, empty throat swallowing. Your hips twitched against him, and your breasts tightened to hard peaks. 

The combination of rushing water at your front and Kylo Ren at your back narrowed your world to the many variations of heat: liquid, pooling, steaming, curling.

Slowly, you turned the soap in your hands to make a lather and tried to focus your senses upon it. The little green bar produced a heady foam, and it smelled so, so good. Was it his soap? 

You pressed one sudsy hand to your fire-red chest and began to rub. You washed upwards until your slick fingers nudged his, nestled around your throat, but he did not budge from there. Trading hands, you rubbed the soap into your belly and onto your side, down across your hip.

You needed another hand. Or some leverage. Seeming to understand your struggle, he lifted his empty hand out into the air for you to lay the soap upon, and you sagged against him a little in relief. You’d certainly die if you did a half-ass job, but you were also hamstrung in the current configuration.

Soaping up better this time, you dropped the bar into his open palm and laid both hands against your body, more easily working the lather into your skin. You sighed something of a contented sigh as you worked soap into tight shoulders and down along the length of your sides. An appreciative rumble vibrated against your back when your hands slid up and around your breasts, and you squirmed.

A second pass with the soap, and your hands were rolling low along your abdomen. Your breath came quick and shallow as you dipped both hands between your thighs and rubbed the suds in, hips inching back further, the arch of your body deepening against him.

Catching yourself, eyebrows drawn together harshly, you backtracked and thrust your hands out into the water, washing away the evidence of lust you’d found there. 

Ren didn’t miss it, though. He let go of your throat, dropped the soap, and wrapped both hands around your hips, pulling you back into him further. You curved upwards, the very tips of your breasts lifting into the hot water spray and swelling further from the attention. You winced but didn't dare lift your head from his shoulder. He lowered his mouth to the valley of your throat, lips moving against your pulse.

“Let’s not pretend that you don’t want to be exactly where you are, shall we?”

He anchored you to him with one arm around your stomach and dropped his thick fingers between your legs, sliding against you with no resistance, but from soap or slick you could not tell. Your breath caught completely, and you stood up further onto your toes, trying to get away.

Languidly, he stroked his fingers between your labia, curling upwards at the very top to graze against your clit each time. Your fingers scraped against his arm, and your hips bucked up into his strokes, earning a low growl into your ear.

“I’m going to keep you, trader,” his voice was thick like honey, and you melted all over his fingers. 

“You’re going to fight me every time, aren’t you? But I’m still going to hurt you, break you, fuck you."

He said these things to you as though they were pillow talk, and you writhed against him, his fingers never faltering but never quickening, his pace absolute torture. You hungered for him, hard and pressed against your backside, but you knew that this was another lesson. He was proving what you already knew: You craved him. 

Defeated, you nodded. You clung to his arm and shuddered against him. His mouth dipped against your pulse again, and he nipped at the skin there, dragging his teeth along the vein. His fingers pressed more insistently against you, the thick middle finger sliding into just the right groove, the pad of his fingertip then finding the very center of your throbbing clit and pressing slippery circles there. 

He reached up to cup and tug at the stiff peak of one breast, and you groaned. He lifted his head from your throat and watched you intently.

"Again."

He tugged once more at your aching nipple, but you could only gasp. Wrapping forward around you, he dropped that hand to slide one finger into your pussy slowly, and you gave him what he wanted, groaning again even though it sounded only like a death rattle.

He pressed a pleased hum into your temple, murmuring that he could feel it when you groaned like that and asking if it felt the same when you screamed, moaned, begged. All the while, his hands never stopped working your cunt. He slowly fucked you with one long finger and rubbed your clit in tight, delicious, wicked circles.

You choked and lurched forwards, spasming under his hand. You reached behind you to clutch fistfuls of his wet pants, rewarded by the flex of a thick, corded thigh. His hips punched forward once, rocking against your ass, and you quaked.

You were edging nearer and nearer to something actually pleasant beneath him, and you arched like a bow for it, your body begging him to please let you have this, pleading that you had certainly suffered enough to deserve it.

“Open your mind to me, and I’ll let you cum,” he whispered it into the shell of your ear, and you went stone rigid.

You felt as though you’d been dumped into ice water, and you turned your face away. Of course, there would be a cost. Shaking your head once, you drew your hands up, clasping them together between your breasts, holding onto yourself. You would not, could not, give him that.

He spun you around so fast that your eyes flew open just in time for your face to be plunged under the shower water. He held your face turned upwards into the spray, and you panicked against him. You clawed and flailed, arched and stomped; all to no avail.

When he drew you forward out of the stream, you coughed and spat, blinking up at him until you registered his cocked eyebrow. He was waiting for you to obey. You were beginning to hate that fucking eyebrow. Pressing your lips into a firm line, you shook your head no.

He forced fingers, tangy with your taste, into your mouth and held open your jaw, one hand wrapped around your neck, and thrust you back under, mouth and throat open, nose turned into the downpour. He was drowning you, just as you’d predicted, and you thrashed against it, but you were inhaling water rather than just swallowing it. It burned your eyes, your nose, your tongue.

As soon as you began to lose consciousness, sagging in his grip, he wrenched you forward and to the side, pounding on your back until you vomited up the water you’d inhaled along with half of the food he’d fed you earlier. 

He allowed you to drop into a wretched pile and crouched down, watching you silently. When you finally lifted your head to regard him, your eyes flashed angrily black and you sneered at him.

He was holding the soap for you to take.

And then, he was gone, leaving you crumpled on the shower floor, unsatisfied, starving, and fuming.


	4. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos. Balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more slow-burn torture; a little more moving us along. Please take the content warnings seriously, as always. And thank you to all of you along with me for this ride. I appreciate it so very much.

Day Four

You’d awoken to darkness, which was an unusual change of pace since you’d been captured. It was quiet, cold, and it sounded as though the universe was at peace. Trying to internalize the soothing white noise, you lay in the spacious bed, wishing you were somewhere you could see stars, and stared at the dark ceiling for a long time contemplating the clash of balance and chaos in your life.

Because Kylo Ren was both chaos and balance. You had no idea what the torture would be, but you knew there would be torture. Each time you saw him, he combusted and consumed you; and you knew that each time you saw him, it would be the same. 

Chaos. Balance.

Ren had left you wallowing in the bottom of the shower, discarded like sewer refuse, and you had stayed on that shower floor for quite some time arguing with yourself if drowning was an auspicious end to your stint in this world or just a coward’s way out.

You still weren’t sure if you made the right choice.

The door hissed opened, and your whole body clenched. When you didn’t hear the whir of the droid that had delivered food, your mouth dried out, and you chewed your lower lip. It could only be him. For the briefest moment, light pooled into the room from the crisp world outside, and you yearned for it suddenly. You’d been trapped in a room with the most dangerous man in the galaxy using you as his personal plaything for days. Ren stepped into the door frame, and the thought of the world beyond him tapered away.

There was only him. Wasn’t there?

A full-body shiver worked its way from your scalp to toes. You were naked, having been left nothing to cover your body save the bedding, and you felt incredibly small, vulnerable but also awash in sensation, tempted by the violence his presence promised, lured into his game by the utter rush of adrenaline he brought with him every visit. Your body responded to even the idea of him, nipples raising to tight peaks, thighs pressing together to quell the quake.

Your fingers fisted the gray sheets, but you were determined to remain calm, to not move. Flattening yourself into the mattress, you focused doubly hard on the ceiling, but you couldn’t stop your breath from quickening. You’d done the things he expected of you; you’d bathed and eaten, made sure you drank water so your body would begin to heal. You had even denied yourself the slippery feel of your own arousal after he’d abandoned you in the shower. Somehow, you reasoned, he would know. 

It was futile, however, to assume that those things would placate him.

He was nothing more than a shadow slicing through darkness, and it felt as though he infected every atom in the room, dimming every bit of light in the universe until he was the center. Every single day, you existed behind the curve, lacking the ability to broadcast your thoughts and feelings the way so many others took for granted. In this lightless room, this black hole cell, you were even more deficient, able to see nothing as the boogeyman came to collect you.

You felt his weight upon the foot of the bed and jumped in response, surprising even yourself with the suddenness of movement. Ren caught your ankle in a harsh grasp, fingers digging into the bony process and turning the ankle out. He pulled your legs apart, nudging them further and further to accommodate his size, and crawled between them as if he owned the space between. With his weight settled upon you, you shook, eyes misting, emotions already spilling over.

Because part of you knew that he  _ did _ own that space between your thighs, and you had to admit to yourself that you  _ wanted _ him to own that space. You couldn’t decide if it was the man’s viciousness that drugged you so or if it was just the man himself, but you were quickly becoming addicted to the vortex of pleasure and pain he brought with him.

You were spinning, your brain fast whirring out of control. He was torturous even when you could see him. Your mind did not know how to react that this, too, was taken from you, and it leaped to scenes of dismemberment, decapitation, laced with the slight red tint of lust, the haze of titillation. You imagined that the way he smelled, like smoke clinging to trees, must certainly be the specter of death hovering nearby, waiting for you, and it curled into the roof of your mouth.

Ren’s hands brought you back from your macabre visions, drawing up along the length of your nude body wrapped tight in the dark fabric, and slithered into your hair, curling into a tight grip at your scalp. Wrenching back, he curved your spine, tipped your head out of the way, and dropped his nose against the thunder of your pulse. Feeling his mouth on your throat spurred it to obedience, and it shifted with a swallow. You rubbed your tongue into your teeth, trying to produce enough saliva to obey again. His voice, when it came, was little above a whisper, but it was smooth like velvet.

“Were you dreaming of me, trader?”

You were lost to the fog of him and trembled to feel his lips vibrate against your skin as he spoke, but you realized he was waiting for you to answer. Licking your lips, you inhaled as deep of a breath as you could and shook your head slightly. He grunted in response, and you winced, preparing yourself for him to sink his teeth into your throat, crush your windpipe, and listen to you wheeze your last breaths beneath him.

But rather than wrath, he wrapped both hands around your shoulders and arched your body further up towards his mouth, painting a long line from your rapid heartbeat to your chin with his tongue. Your head lolled, and you tried to suppress the shudder that rolled through you, but your body responded of its own accord, one leg lifting up to squeeze at him with your thigh. His dark chuckle resounded against you, condescending, and you angrily shoved your leg away, turning your face from him.

“A liar as well as a traitor, hm?”

Releasing one shoulder, Ren settled his palm over your breast and squeezed, his thumb grazing over your aching nipple, and you shook your head again. Whatever you may have accepted about his claim upon your body was not for him to know, and you bristled at the contact. As though he could hear your thoughts, he did it again, proving the point. You did crave his touch, your body was his to compel, and he knew that you knew it.

You felt branded by it.

Slithering his touch down along the length of you, he tugged one leg up around his hips, stretched those searing fingers around the ripe curve of your ass, and pulled the cradle of your body open to accept him. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into yours, his weight moving and dipping with each thrust. Your breath stuttered, toes curling as you felt him lengthening against your core. You twisted your fingers into fists so that you wouldn’t reach for him.

“What else have you lied about?”

You were so focused on not being aroused by his every arousing gesture that you didn’t notice his free fingers inching up your shoulder and around your throat. Panic shot across your face, but it was too late. You cursed yourself for letting down your guard, for being made the fool by your own treacherous body. His large digits were just beneath your jaw on either side, and he was squeezing dangerously tight, cutting off the flow of blood to your brain by damming up the vein. 

In your terror, your body curled around him, fingers clutching at his shirt, thighs squeezing his body, cunt heating as lust and fear boiled your blood. In trying to get away, you were undulating beneath him, rolling with his own grinding hips, and he growled under his breath, hardening further against your pelvis. Shame flooded you, but your eyes still fluttered shut, your groan still came to rumble under his grip. You tried to shake your head, but his grip made movement impossible, and you began to see bright spots in the black room.

Just before you slipped away, he released the pressure of his thumb and began to rub circles into the skin, as though this was a soothing gesture. He was learning your body and how long it would take you to lose consciousness, and your head swam with the realization. Your lungs remembered to fill, and you gasped against the unforgiving wall of his chest. You shuddered, the length of your body recoiling as though he’d shot you to orbit on an orgasm, and he hissed, snatching you back to attention. Shaking your head wildly, you tried to telegraph to him that you hadn’t lied about anything.

Ren lifted himself, one knee planting under the curve of your ass to bear his weight, and pressed the moist heat of his palm against your chest. He was still rubbing circles against your jugular vein when fire shot up through your pussy and around your clit. On instinct, you cried out, the gravel gasp of it reverberating up into his hand, and his fingers curled down into your sternum as though he planned to pull your beating heart from its cavity.

The sensation at your cunt was warm and almost wet, and you squirmed beneath him. You wrapped one hand around his wrist, trying to lift the weight of his demand away; and one hand slithered up the hard, chiseled arm to grip the middle, at the elbow, trying to pull the weight of his demand further into your body. In your delirium, you couldn’t decide which you wanted more.

Your slit of a useless mouth quivered, whimpering soundlessly, as he used the Force to manipulate you in this new and wicked way. Your clit was pushed up and down, side to side, and your chest shot upwards, connecting with the strangle at your throat and the crush at your chest. Jaw clenched, you tried not to imagine it was his tongue buried deep between your swollen cunt lips, but the feeling was just as hot, just as fluid. Each time your chest oscillated where moans should be, his hips pushed into you, and you were fast a sticky mess beneath him.

“Do you know where the Resistance has gone?”

You were teetering just on the edge of bliss, wrapping yourself around him as though you, yourself, were the fabled monster from the deep, dragging him down into your abyss second by second. Your hips danced trying to find just the right angle or just the perfect spot for his cock between your labia. Dizzy, you arched and twisted, but he kept the pace of his hips deliberately slow, keeping the pleasure you ached for just out of reach.

You didn’t have any other way to communicate with him in the dark; and though you were certain he knew right where your mind was, you were terrified of the ramifications of that fact. Pleadingly, you clutched at his wrist with both hands, trying to lift his large hand up. You squeezed his sides with your legs, desperately trying to convey that you weren’t fighting, you weren’t trying to get away. 

Astonishingly, his grip eased at your chest, and he let you have his hand. Relief flooded you, and you hugged his body tighter with your trembling thighs and tugged his hand up over your mouth. Shifting the palm so that it covered both of your lips and nearly all of one cheek, you tipped your face up into the volatile cover and brushed your mouth against the smooth center. This seemed to please him because his hips ground into you with a bit more weight and the hot suction between your legs increased. You groaned again, and you knew it vibrated through your lips against his palm. You had to fight to focus on what you were doing.

Sliding one hand over his where it covered your mouth, you again reached up to his elbow, hooking your fingers there and pulling, tempting him to again lean his weight into you, onto you. Pressing your lips up into his fiery skin, you opened your eyes and looked up into the darkness, straining to pick out his outline and hoping that he could see you better. When he did lean his weight onto your captive face, you forgot what was happening and lost yourself to gyrating beneath him, begging for  _ something _ . Remembering his question, you shook your head purposefully. No, you did not know where they were. 

Whether Ren believed you or not, he squeezed your face, fingers digging into the mottled cheek and chin until his fingernails dug curved trenches to mar your skin’s landscape. You were panting, lungs straining against ribs, nostrils flaring against foreign flesh, simultaneously frightened and aflame. His silence only prolonged your agony, but the Force sucking on your clit never faltered, and your eyes squeezed shut tight as a tremor rocked through you, bucking your hips up against it, against him.

You had been rendered a pathetic, mewling, wretched thing, and you pleaded with the unknown that he would believe you, that he would accept your offering because you were empty of anything else.

You had been foolish to hope for mercy, to hope that he would be satisfied with your display; and when his fingers tightened at both your nose and throat, you jerked against him violently, fists pounding into his arm. Thrashing your head from side to side, you wailed and cried, screamed and raged inside your head. The first time you saw him came flooding back, the feeling you had when you knew nothing you could say would satisfy him. He would chase every answer you ever provided with pain. It was the only thing he could believe.

Ren’s hand left your face, and you surged upwards into a painful arch, swallowing air desperately, just as something flew into his hand. Re-oxygenated, you were struggling against the grip at your throat when the lightsaber ignited furiously into the room. You blanched, terrified into momentary stillness. As suddenly as it flared against the dark, the hellfire was gone. The black that enveloped you was now tinted crimson, and you fought to focus on something concrete, only able to see little particles of red-and-white light and blinking rapidly to clear them away.

Knowing it was in his hands flooded you with adrenaline, and you clashed against him with a new vigor. Your heels found purchase against the mattress, and you threw the entire weight of your body into him, trying to upset his balance, impotently attempting to shake the immovable. You clawed at his chest and arms, tried to peel his tight grip away from your throat. Recognizing the futility, you implored the galaxy that he would slide the Force over your body, take away your will, your option to fight him, because it made bearing his torment easier.

Your useless gaze watered over, and tears spilled down into your hairline as you came to understand that he wanted to feel you fight him. He had stopped using the Force to hold you down because he wanted your struggle, your battle. He had never asked you to stop fighting him; he had simply told you he would win.

Kylo Ren had told you a simple truth; and in doing so, he had completely obliterated you.

The Force did abandon your clit, just as you’d begged, in favor of your mouth, and your jaw was cranked open wide. The lightsaber ignited again, and you watched it move nearer and nearer to your face. You screamed, chest seizing and rippling in fear; but at the last possible moment, the angry blaze cut off, and Ren lowered the weapon into your mouth until the hot cross hilt sizzled against the delicate corners. You could smell the burning, taste the char, and you wretched, but you dared not turn your head, close your mouth, or lift your tongue.

You could only sob beneath him, paralyzed, horrified, electrified.

Ren let you ride out your terror, pressing on your chest until you registered that he hadn’t yet blown a hole through your skull. He stayed silent and motionless while you fought your breath back into some semblance of normal. Focusing your brain, you tried to be still, to soothe him with your obedience, to quiet your desperate mind. You clutched at his shirt but stopped pushing him away, and you bent your legs up around his hips, hugging the wall of him in tight. Of their own mind, your hips rocked against him once, twice, because his had woefully ceased moving. The hard width of his cock was still tucked in between your labia, and you fixated on that until you were no longer quaking.

“Do you know where they are?”

The Force left your mouth, and you labored to hear him over the rush of blood in your ears. He’d taken away the method of communicating you’d offered him, and you could see less now than you could before he’d disrupted the dark with the lightsaber. You felt wholly plunged into an obsidian sea, lungs filling with Ren’s dark will. Mind flailing, struggling not to drown in this fear, you did the only thing you could think of and prayed you survived.

Peeling your lips back from chattering teeth, you bit down on the edge of the weapon, the very last ridge.

You heard his breath catch, indicating he  _ could _ see you in this inky barrenness. You held your teeth there, hoping he wouldn’t lose patience and end your furious bid. You knew how to placate angry men, how to soothe wounded egos, but Kylo Ren was no ordinary man, and these were unprecedented circumstances. Releasing the bits of shirt you’d clung to, you splayed both hands against the chiseled expanse of his chest, trying to show him that you were compliant, honest, trustworthy in this moment.

Steeling yourself into composure, you used his body, his nearness, to ground yourself and commit to what you were about to do. You didn’t know if you would survive this moment, but you were a caged creature with no options left. Carefully, cautiously, you shook your head; the weapon jostled, moved side to side by the grip of your teeth. No, you didn’t know where they were.

Ren was feral now, his cock throbbing, pulsing against your concealed cunt, and his breathing was short and shallow. His fingernails scratched down your throat, leaving red, welted tracks, and the weight of the lightsaber increased as he released it to similarly claw at your chest. Your mind screamed at you to throw the treacherous thing away, but something slid over you, peaceful, powerful, and you left it there, protruding from your mouth. He growled and snarled, grinding himself against your burning core.

Was this acceptance? Submission? Why did you feel so powerful?

You hushed the instincts telling you this was madness and tipped your head back. In this liquid euphoria, you showed Ren your throat, swallowed for him, mimicking the path his cock would take if it were lodged there in place of his weapon, and he gnashed his teeth. The chaos in you silenced, and you curled suddenly assured fingers into his shirt, luring him down rather than fighting him away. 

The hands that shook this time were not your own, and the grip that claimed your hips was brutally tight, as though to camouflage the tremble. You arched up, curving your spine in a delicious bow, and tried to press your throbbing breasts into his huffing rib cage. Ren rutted into you once more, and your twisting, pulsating pelvis cradled him, rolling with his thrusts.

You knew he was watching you, and you flushed, imagining how you looked to him. Eyes wet and wild. Skin hot and streaked with sweat and tears. Lips stretched apart, teeth holding his weapon, the extension of himself, upright. You wondered if he saw you as hungry as you saw yourself in this moment. You lifted your sex into his and whimpered at the drag of his length against you.

Somehow, you found yourself wishing that you weren’t separated from him by trousers and bedding, and you closed your eyes to focus on him grinding against you, his pace increasing. Emboldened, your tongue came up to trace the ridge of the saber’s portal, and he barked out a curse. You licked at it, the alloy taste a pitiable substitute for Ren's skin, and felt your body deliver a surge of wet heat to perfume the room. There would be no denying that his violence awakened every part of you.

He was all but fucking you now, stabbing against your swollen, cloistered pussy, using your body to get off, and it provoked your lust, consuming you. You swam in the picture you created in your head of him looming over you, face red and sweaty as he drilled into you. You imagined the weapon in your mouth was his cock, and you poked your tongue up into the gaping hole, tentatively at first. It was warm, and it tasted of violence and death.

"Fuck. Again." 

You reveled in his gaze, his debauched command. You were charged electric, teeming with obscene fantasies, a Child God’s harlot worshiping at the altar of his weapon.

His hips began to stutter as you worked your tongue in and out of the saber's opening, losing yourself to the idea that he was coming undone for you, because of you. Circling the raised ridge again, you hummed at the taste of metal and slid the hungry muscle back into that channel, bathing the industrial black in shining spit.

Clamoring between your legs, Ren bore down on your chest to hold you in place, deflating your lungs with the shift of his weight. He tore away the sheet that was covering your naked body and knelt between your legs. Angrily, he forced your thighs apart wide, slapping at one viciously, a warning that you were to keep them there. Your hips never stopped moving for him, though, and you wrapped both hands around the wrist at your hammering heart, deciding that this was your favorite way for him to suffocate you. Continuing to fuck his weapon with your tongue, you wrapped the sinful sounds he made around you like a glove.

Ren’s beautiful mouth dripped with all manner of derogatory mutterings, and you contorted under each. Dirty. Filthy. Pathetic. Hungry. Greedy. You could hear him fisting his cock, the slap of it echoing out into the silent room, punctuated only by heavy breathing. 

The two of you were locked in fantasy, bleeding desires into reality. He fucked his tight fist, picturing you swallowing his aching cock instead of his weapon, and you writhed beneath him as though he was actually fucking you, hips bucking, breasts quivering, cunt clenching.

He shot his orgasm up the length of your body with a deep growl, and you purred for it, arching, straining, to be the canvas for each hot drop, concentrating on the sticky feel of it puddling on your ribs. You rocked your hips against the empty air, languid and loose. You were slick and ready for him, even though you knew it wouldn’t come. He would deny you this, you were sure, but you were wholly satisfied, even through the painful throb that didn’t abate.

You had done that. You had wrung orgasm from insanity. 

A moment passed where he just looked at you, saying nothing. Time distorted, and you followed the rustle of fabric as he righted himself. Reaching for his weapon, he dislodged it from your teeth with a clink, the metal clanging against enamel. Wisely, you remained exactly where you were, quaking into the darkness, until he left the room.

Hours passed. The exhilaration, the frenzy, crashed, and you slipped into mindless existence. After he’d left, you slept. When food was delivered, you ate. But all of your brain function was centered upon reliving the early morning hour with Ren. Even the memory of it blistered you, and you found yourself grimacing through the replay.

You had delighted in the depravity with hardly any prodding at all.

Your fingers still shook with the revelation, and you covered still flushed cheeks,  _ nonono _ running on repeat as though refusing to admit the truth would make it go away. Violent men were not new to you, but you had never reacted to one the way you reacted to him. Rationalizing that Commander Kylo Ren was unlike any man you’d ever known did nothing to staunch your shame. You wanted to curl into a ball beneath the cover, to let your disgust force every muscle into contracture. You wanted to keen and cry, but you were fresh out of tears. Ren owned those, too, it seemed, because you could not produce a single one for yourself no matter how you languished.

Repulsed at the pathetic thing you’d become, you forced yourself up and into the bathroom. The automatic light startled you, and you lurched away from the mirror with a wince before realizing that the wounded creature there was you. Wrapping clammy fingers around the counter’s corners, you leaned forward and studied your opposite. She looked like you. She bore your scars. But she was a wholly different animal, hunger in dark eyes, riddled with new constellations of angry color. Ren’s bruises bloomed up under a canopy dotted with crimson stars, new galaxies of blue, green, purple.

That woman, you decided, was a raging, wanton savage.

What did it mean, then, that she was you? This cell, this man, was a crucible of destruction, but were you being remade into something capable of withstanding his onslaught? Or had you been this object, this receptacle for his whim all along? Only waiting for the right spark, the right strike to solidify your purpose?

Turning away from the uncomfortable answers, you stepped into the shower alcove and turned the cold water on full blast. The icy torrent choked air from your lungs, and you pushed your face into the pelting, trying to slide the lie back into place that you were horrified by your predicament. If Ren ignited you so, perhaps you could freeze yourself back into rationality. You were not this man’s plaything; you were his prisoner.

Heaving for breath, you crouched down and pressed palms into your face, enduring the numbing punishment until your lips blued and your fingertips were incapable of registering sensation, curling in on themselves to similarly useless fists. Your jaws, teeth, knocked together, the tick tick tick marking time. When you could handle no more, you reached for the knob, quaking and fumbling to turn off the excruciating reminder, having foolishly muted your dexterity. 

Wrapping up in the towel, you stepped back into your dungeon and surveyed, your assessment sobering. You needed to forget the power you’d felt under Ren’s thumb this morning and concentrate on getting the fuck away from him. Drawing in a steadying breath, you resolved to get away from them all, every man who had ever laid false claim to you.

Examining your surroundings, you began a mental list. This was a room, not a cell, which meant you were in the proper living quarters of the ship and not the prisoner block. That also meant this room was connected to a different power grid, and the lights were automated to a stricter schedule. Prisoners didn’t need to know what time it was, but workers did. Blowing out a huff, you nodded once, feeling more like yourself with a task at hand, and you set to it.

Having spent your lifetime disassembling and reassembling things, you knew to start small. Sometimes, the guts of one thing built something else. You abandoned the towel because holding it in place hindered your movement, and your body was warming back up to an acceptable temperature, pink flooding back into lips and benumbed extremities. Starting at the nearest wall, you dragged palms and fingertips along every surface, every ridge, every corner in the room.

Everything in the galaxy could be taken apart.

Meticulously, you combed the room for errant screws, splinters of plastic, shards of tile you could coax free from plaster, and you collected everything onto the small desk in the corner. Making it around to the door, you drummed fingers against it, chewing the inside of one cheek. If this was a room, and not a cell, there should be a panel to operate the door from the inside, allowing the occupant to exit. 

It had been replaced with a solid panel, but you found it, and your heart pounded with excitement. That meant the wiring, the important circuitry, was just beneath that blank face. They hadn’t removed it; they’d only thought to hide it. Idly, you wondered how many injuries would result if Ren knew corners were cut. 

Turning back to the pile on the desk, you pushed through the detritus and wrapped fingers around the shard of poly-carbonate. A quick decision had you tearing a corner from the sheet, fashioning a makeshift handle to keep from gouging at your skin, and tucking the little shank into your palm. 

Daringly, you hopped back over to the wall and broke into a grin, pleased with yourself. Even if you didn’t pop that panel, even if you didn’t get away, you had a weapon, paltry though it might be. You had  _ something _ to use. Standing on your toes, you stuck the plastic tip in under the lip where it was closest and wiggled it all the way around the edges, slicing the concealing paint from the wall. Deciding that up and away was the best plan, you shoved the shiv in again and worked at prying the panel free.

Wiping sweat from your brow, you settled down onto flat feet, shaking out your legs. Standing on your toes that long was making them cramp, but you were too jittery to stop or take a break. The bottom of the panel was lifted out of its seat, and you were within striking distance of the electronic guts underneath. You breathed out a prayer, stepped back up onto your toes, and slid your tool home.

Just then, the door burst open, and all hope bled from your face.

Wide, terrified eyes lifted into the stark, too-bright hallway, and you winced, blinking and trying to focus. Days in half or full dark turned you vampiric, unable to withstand anything crisp and clean. Shying away from the very portal you were trying to jimmy open, you dropped the shank with a clink and lifted an arm up to cover your face, cowering away from the figure standing at the threshold. His gloved fist connected with your stomach, punching you back into the room and shocking the breath from you.

Doubling over, you coughed and wretched onto the floor from the force of his strike, reeling back into your cell. You shot a hand out at him, keeping your body an arm’s length apart, back further and further away from escape, into dread. This was death, you were certain. The devil had caught you trying to flee hell, and this was your end. 

Ren stepped in, the door sealing behind him, and all the oxygen was sucked from the room. He dwarfed every single thing here, the sheer size of him casting everything in degrees of small, worthless, discardable. But it was his silence, the false patience and calm demeanor, that was your undoing. Your eyes, worthless to you earlier, could cry now, and they flooded your cheeks with hot tears.

“Escaping? Hm?”

His words were venom, spat at you accusingly as he dropped a black parcel on the desk, sending your array of bits and bobbles crashing to the floor. Crouching, he pushed gloved fingers through your collection and paused, hovering over the wrapped bit of plastic you’d fashioned. Paling, you withered, physically shrinking away from his judgment. The pride and sense of accomplishment you’d built back up in yourself were smashed away under the weight of his displeasure, though he said nothing.

As he rose to his full height, you were convinced you could  _ feel _ the build-up of his rage. You’d withstood Kylo Ren’s furor once before. You weren’t sure you could do it again.

Marked by a mechanical hiss, Ren removed the dark helmet, and you were struck dumb by the sight. He was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and his full lips quivered as he pondered whatever it is demons decide. He turned the covering over in his hands in contemplation; and then, his rage exploded, and he threw the helmet at the wall, aimed and connecting dead on at the panel you’d been attempting to scavenge. He gave you what you’d wanted; the panel dropped away, sparks flying and popping. You watched it dangle from an electrical cord mournfully.

In the next instant, he was on you, but this was different. You expected rage, a whipping, more drowning; but instead, he wrapped one granite arm around your waist and tucked one hand against your cheek. He tilted your face up and nudged the end of your nose with his. You shook in his embrace, fisting fingers into the collar of his cloak, shaking your head anxiously, but for what? He had caught you doing exactly what you intended to do. Gazing into his eyes, though, you could see the simmering indignation, the twitch of his eye socket indicating barely contained vehemence.

“Four days,” he said, “You’ve been here four days.”

Your brow knit, but you nodded, accepting what he was telling you. He hadn’t lied to you yet; so, you had no cause to think he would do so now. Sucking your lower lip in, you watched his mouth move, watched him speak, imagining how it would feel even in your terror. 

Your eyes dried, consternation stopping the tears, as you pieced together that he was taunting you, forewarning that he was going to hurt you, punish you, and maneuvering you to agree that you deserved it. He told you he was going to keep you, hurt you, not kill you. Death would not feed his cruel desire.

Surrendering to the inevitable, four of something, you visibly slackened and let dark, wet lashes sweep down to cover the resignation.

You sagged into the arm at your middle, sniffling and refusing to meet his assessing gaze. Lifting his index finger to teeth, Ren tugged the glove free and tossed it away. His fingers danced, connecting with your bare shoulder and traveling the length of your arm; anticipation, you thought. He lifted your arm as though it was a fragile thing, turning it so that the soft, sensitive underside was raised to the sky. His dark torrent of curls lowered, that enticing mouth inching towards your skin, and you held your breath. 

Four what, your brain suddenly supplied.

Comprehension broke over you a fraction of a second before Ren’s mouth stretched open wide over the vulnerable flesh, but you couldn’t jerk away. You could only watch, time slowing to an agonizing crawl, as his teeth bared on a snarl and sunk into the skin. You couldn’t breathe; your every thought was arrested, your body propelled into anxious quaking. 

His bite was vicious, the mighty jaw locking down tight, and you feared the pressure would break straight through the bone. Once latched on, he turned his head right and left, teeth dug far in and nearly tearing the skin. He groaned long and loud, eliciting a fresh pool of heat in your belly. He drew in a tremulous breath and blew it out hot over the crook of your elbow.

Your arm numbed, veins compressed by his bite. When he finally let go, the leaden weight fell from his mouth with a wet shuck, pain jolting through to your shoulder as you listed to one side. You looked up at him dazed, the whole of the universe fuzzy and muted, and he hummed with satisfaction, the reverberation of it tickling your nipples where you were pressed tightly to him. He shifted you in his embrace, spurring you into action. You did press against his chest now, convinced you could not endure three more of those.

Ren’s vice grip never lessened, and he repeated the harrowing process, forcing your bent arm straight, turning the tender meat up for his ravenous intent, and sinking down onto it without mercy. Knowing what was coming made it worse, and you screamed, a raspy garble, and twisted in his grasp, trying desperately to tug your arm out of his mouth. He delighted in your suffering, growling hungrily, your ministrations only serving to spur him on. He opened his mouth wider, sucked the flesh of your arm deeper into the cavern, and bit down again to the very molars.

Breaking into sobs, you hit at his shoulder, loose fist bumping impotently against the padded cloak. Your face crumpled with misery, and you danced onto your toes. Leaning into him, you pressed your forehead into the back of his raven curls and begged for him to release by rubbing back and forth like a feline.  _ Please let go. Please let go. Please let go. _

The bull-dog grip he had on your arm released slowly this time, and he lapped at the indentations left dotting the terrain. Absent his gaze, you had a moment to recover, to contemplate the circumstance. You weren’t aware that you’d curled trembling fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck until his head lifted, stretching you. When his eyes lit down onto you, your head lolled back, and you slid into the embrace of your mantra.

_ In suffering, there is… _

“Beauty.”

His voice finishing your prayer ricocheted you out of the bliss you’d been trying to escape into, and you pushed against him with throbbing arms. No, your mind screamed. That was for you, and you wouldn’t allow him to have it. No! Your face hardened, furious. Your mind was yours only; he had no claim to it. Bending and contorting inside his arms, you angrily stomped and kicked at his calves. A banging at the door drew his gaze over one shoulder, and he sneered in disgust or impatience, perhaps both.

Ren shoved you onto the bed, rolled you onto your stomach, and planted the sole of his boot upon your backside. Acrimony burned your tongue, and you tasted sulfurous bile at the back of your throat. Out of time, he stilled you with the Force and yanked you down the bed until your feet were hanging off the edge. You careened headlong into upheaval, yelling into the bedding in powerless rage.

“You will owe me two.”

Bending one leg up, he pressed his thumb harshly down into the very center of your foot arch, and you bucked in the Force’s hold, howling out every bit of air you had. The throb of it abated, though, when you felt something scoring the flesh, scratching and dragging down the length of your tender sole. Stinging diffused through the pad, and your brow clenched tight, trying to puzzle through why it felt like something was crawling on you. A hot, thick trail wound down, pulled by gravity.

Blood. 

He’d cut the sole of your foot open. An apt punishment for a runner, you thought darkly and assumed he’d used your own fucking tool against you. Abandoning one foot for the other, the slice was repeated, and you shook your head, fuming and straining to not cry. Ren tossed the shank away with a clatter and stepped off of your ass. Wrapping unforgiving fingers around your ankle, he pulled you further down the bed and manhandled you into sitting at the bed’s edge. The Force departed from your body, and you glared at him, shooting daggers through damp lashes.

“Quickly.”

You vaguely recalled the parcel he’d entered the room with as it dropped into your lap. Untying the bundle, you freed your socks and boots, and heaved a tired sigh. Fucking perfect, you thought. You’d managed to flee on the very day you were due to be moved; and now, you were hobbled for your efforts. Indignantly, you shoved your bloody feet into socks and boots. No sooner than your second boot touched the ground, Ren hauled you up onto your feet and spun you to face away.

Fire shot up through your legs, and you choked yourself into angry compliance, pouring every bit of effort you had into not dancing, into simply standing and suffering this punishment. You schooled your face into passivity, calming your breathing. Your agitation earlier had opened the door for him to hear your mind, and that simply would not do. Eyes closed, you simply breathed and meditated as he manipulated your body.

Agile, Ren’s hands moved to pull your battered, burning arms behind your back. For a brief moment, his thumbs raked over the new bite-sized bruises rising to life before he rolled your shoulders back, punching your chest further forward and drawing your elbows closer together. Producing a long strip of leather, he tied your arms tight with knots at the wrists, elbows, and upper arms.

“We’re leaving.”

Your eyes shot wide open, and you leaned to one side, looking up at him over your shoulder. You weren’t shocked that you were leaving; that was painfully clear. You were shocked that you’d been given nothing to wear. Did he plan to parade you down the hallway like a common whore? Jerking out of his grip, you stepped closer to the bed and away from the door.

“Don’t be stupid,” he sneered.

Unclasping the cloak from his broad shoulders, he threw it around your naked form and hooked it back beneath your neck. It was going to flare out as you walked, but it was the best you were going to get. Capturing your chin, he lifted your incredulous face, looking down the length of his nose at you for a brief, quiet moment before turning to don helmet and gloves. It occurred to you, just now, that Ren spoke very little around you, and you wondered if he enjoyed the lack of obligation to do so.

Throwing you against the wall, Ren ignited his lightsaber and plunged it into the panel you’d been dissecting. Smoke wafted towards the ceiling just as the door struggled open. Hand at your neck, he forced you out into the hallway, bright and glossy, and you grimaced in the face of so much light, shrinking back as though you could escape it. Gloved fingers dug in and directed you to move, turn, walk forward. He was impatient and drilled you to step faster, but he caught you every time your injured feet faltered and sent you tripping to the side.

When the ship dock came into view, you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes lifted, awed, and you simply could not make yourself take another step. It wasn’t terror, though. You could see stars, and hope stilled your breath. After four days in a hole, here was the galaxy, still existing apart from Kylo Ren. There was still life out there, and here was your proof. Even the corners of your lips turned up slightly, gratefully.

You would survive this pit, you decided, and you would disappear into the stars forever.

The adversary at your shoulder shoved you into motion, through the hanger and onto the ramp of a craft. He marched you into it, barking orders to the pilot to get the ship in the air. It was small, cramped, and he walked you back into a corner, turning you to lean against the wall. You were grateful that Ren decided to keep the wreck of your body to himself, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment, shifting left and right, unable to find a comfortable way to stand in bloody socks.

The craft lifted from the hangar, and your weight shifted, bending your knees slightly to better balance. Your nose wrinkled, displeased at the pins and needles in your toes, but you leaned your head back against the wall and sighed. Your arms throbbed, each tooth-sized gauge pulsing to your heartbeat, and your tight shoulders ached. Every moment you spent in Ren's captivity had you hyper aware of your body, it's limitations and desires, and you just wanted to take a break. 

You were nearly dozing, almost relaxed and lulled into tranquility by the ambient noise of the shuttle, when you felt Ren’s warm hand connect with your body, snuck into the folds of your cover. Brow ticking, you kept your eyes closed, not wanting to look upon the helmet, annoyed by its presence and how it kept his beautiful face from you. His wide palm cupped and squeezed your breast, and you shivered, lips parting on a sharp exhale. Slowly, he teased the nipple to hardness under his thumb, and you hunched to back your skin away.

As punishment, he stepped on your foot, pressing his weight into the pained stump until you nodded, understanding the consequence. He lifted the toe of his boot, and you righted your posture. Stroking your breast again, he tugged upon your lower lip with his free hand. Opening your mouth, as the gesture commanded you should, you fixed your hungering gaze upon the black visor, seeing a distorted reflection of yourself there. Ren slid the pad of his thumb into your mouth, against the flat of your tongue to moisten the calloused flesh. The now warm-and-wet tip returned to your puckering nipple, rubbing the moisture into the skin and building fire between your legs.

“Did you cum while I was away?”

You gasped on a particularly rough tug, and shook your head. You knew he would ask, knew that he would know if you lied about it. He pulled, tugged, and twisted on that nipple until you were dancing on your toes, the evidence of your desirous suffering being only the clutch of teeth at your lip. Your pussy throbbed, pumping out heat for him that laced the air, and your cheeks burned with humiliation. You strongly doubting either Ren or the pilot missed the tang of it in the tight cabin.

"But you wanted to." 

He leaned in, crowding into your space, and dropped gloved fingers straight down to your cunt, sliding in between the folds with no drag whatsoever, so slick and ready were you for him. He nudged the side of his index finger up against your clit and slowly worked forward and back. His bare hand was back at your breast, cupping, pressing, holding you upright by the pillowy handle. Clenching your eyes shut tight to cut off the flash of lust you knew was there, you shook your head softly again. A traitor and, now, a liar, just as he predicted.

“Let me in, and I will allow it."

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shook your head a third time, forcing your chest into regulated breathing. Flexing your fingers behind you, you tilted your chin away, and willed yourself to think about something else, anything other than the wicked fingers rubbing at your pussy. 

"You're close to breaking, trader, and I'll take what I want." 

Your eyes darkened, eyebrows drawing down. Licking your teeth, you rolled your head back, sliding into a familiar mindset, detaching from your body. You had forgone orgasms before, controlled your responses and taught yourself to separate victimization from pleasure. You doubted you would be able to do it with this man, but you could try. Lifting your head, you leveled a cold stare at his helmet, features painted into passive compliance, absent any enthusiasm or affliction.

The mental ground you’d gained with your failed escape plan emboldened you, and you would be damned if you were going to give it back. Ren terrified you, but you were not going into the void a meek, cowering mess. If he wanted to feel you fight, you would fight.

As anticipated, his bare hand shot up to your throat and around, angry at your challenge and the wall you built so quickly. Squeezing tightly, he growled and forcefully shook you, using your throat as leverage. His gloved hand gripped your cunt so hard you were sure there would be bruises; but then, you were already riddled with evidence of Ren’s claim upon you. Baring your teeth on a muted snarl, you held your gaze steady, unblinking, defiant.

You felt gravity shift in the craft, jostling, and your lips tugged up into a smirk. Wherever here was, you’d arrived, and he would have to present himself to someone. You would pay for this insolence later, you had no doubt, but this whole fucking day was yours, victoriously yours, regardless of what came next.

“Sir, the  _ Supremacy _ ...”


	5. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stand accused of something impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can you spill secrets without spilling a little blood?
> 
> You just can't. 
> 
> Thanks for all who are hanging in. This is my favorite chapter so far, and I truly hope some tears come from it. I'm a bad person, afterall.

Day Five

At the  _ Supremacy _ , Ren marched you from the shuttle and into the bustling hangar. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen, the sheer scope of it dwarfing entire star systems. The docking bay teemed with life, with a never-ending bustle of activity. It looked to be anarchy, but you could see order in the disarray, repairs being carried out, orders being given, shuttles and ships so close but quite unreachable.

Ren hooked his great hand around your arm, whirled you in between two ships, and pushed you at a waiting black guard. Lifting your eyes to this new person, all the blood drained from your face. It was one of the Knights of Ren, the most well-known, blood-thirsty body guards in the galaxy, and they towered over you. You were dumbfounded, eyes round as saucers, and trembling when the cold voice you knew so well broke through your haze.

“Take her to med bay and then my quarters. YOU are on her at all times.”

Your eyes swung between the two warriors, brow furrowed. Finally, you understood he was leaving, and you panicked because he’d fixed it so you couldn’t reach for him, couldn’t even stomp your foot to get his attention. He’d taken away every option you had to communicate in this moment except the one he wanted. He had rendered you a muted object to be seen and not heard. 

Your mind reeled, and you balked at this new potential reality. You could endure his torment because it was him, because he’d been there with you every day, building it up. But what did it mean that he was turning you over to his thugs? What new torture were you being delivered to now? Groups of angry men together did bad, bad things, and you were a ripe target, a trussed-up gift from their leader. 

The onyx void of a visor swiveled around to look down at you, and you shrank from what you knew to be ice in the gaze behind it.

“And have her sanitized,” his detached tone and robotic voice cut through you.

Your head jerked up and you glared at him, fuming. He’d all but fucking bathed you himself; and now, he was sending you to be sanitized like a filthy prisoner just come in from the desert. You did stomp your foot, irate and finished with being ignored, only for your knees to buckle as the pain shot up your calf and into your hip. Ren didn’t catch you this time, and you collapsed onto the hangar floor, barely able to stare at his boots.

Then, he was gone.

Ren was gone, and you were literally feet away from space with no way to get there, to get away. Benumbed, you stared at the gaping mouth of the landing track, unable to even put up a fight when your new guard manhandled you into standing. Somber, you stared at the stars just beyond your reach and wondered what it meant that you weren’t trying to fight your way out of this predicament. 

Ren had left you here, confident that you weren’t going to get away. Was he equally confident that you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to even try?

The guard’s gloved hand felt along your arms, working out where and how they were tied behind your back, and you winced at the rough pinch over the still-aching bite marks. Settling for a grip at your shoulder, they used it to walk you away from the departing crafts. You fixed your eyes upon the brightest star in the narrow field and held it until you were hustled around the corner and away, pleading with the unknowable that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see stars.

The next hour was the most humiliating you’d endured in your entire life, and you knew, with absolute certainty, that this was punishment for your insolence. 

At the med bay, you were inspected but never untied. The attending physician blushed beet red at the state of you, but she never spoke as she checked over and cleaned your wounds. Bacta patches were adhered to the soles of your feet; and then, she fled the room as fast as she could. You sneered in her wake, angry that she didn’t ask about the bruises, cuts, and spots littering your body, angrier that she accepted your imprisonment without so much as brief indignation on your behalf.

From there, you were dragged through familiar territory, the cell block. The expanse was shocking, dominating, and you felt tiny, wholly irrelevant in comparison. This was the sort of prison, you thought, where people disappeared, swallowed up by misery, never seen or heard from again. Sobered back into survival mode, you picked out details, making a list of where the door was, what numbers were painted on the walls, how far you’d come from med bay.

Jarringly, you were tossed into a processing room, and a team of cleaners descended upon you like scavengers. The chemical smell was overpowering, the very air infected by it, and your eyes and nose burned. Untrussed and untied, you were chained to the wall and blasted with a water cannon so strong you choked at the frigid punch. You were thoroughly, harshly cleaned from stem to stern, hair and teeth washed and brushed, and checked for stars-only-knew-what. You seethed with contempt, though, when the razors descended, shaving away all hair save what sat upon your head.

Fucking sanitized.

Your Knight guard brushed away the paper uniform brought for you to wear and re-tied you in the same manner Ren had left you, tucking the cloak back around your shoulders. 

You boiled with rage, ready to murder every single person on this galaxy-sized ship and dance on their bones.

You were led through a staggering number of turns before being jostled through the door at the end of a long hallway. It was blessedly dark on the other side, and you sagged slightly, relieved. You were becoming more dependent upon the dark than you liked, but the harsh overhead lighting of the ship proper made you queasy, as though it cast too much light upon your lack of modesty, the way you unfurled under Ren’s hand.

Hastily, you were pushed into a chair and tied to it, the reprieve on your wrists and arms was so brief you barely had time to wiggle your fingers before being anchored down. Taking their orders very strictly, the guard posted at the door, standing right at its center on the  _ inside _ of the chamber. Any hope you had of doing, learning, or stealing anything withered. 

The guard stared straight ahead, the helmet visor betraying nothing, just as Ren’s betrayed nothing. The Knights of Ren were legendary for their destructive ability, but you didn’t know that they would anticipate their Commander’s will so exactly.

The rest of the day passed exactly like this. You couldn’t speak, and your guard didn’t speak. From your observations, you couldn’t even positively say they breathed. The only aberrations to this stand-off were when you were released to eat and relieve yourself, which you had to ask for by pointing to the adjoining room, the very gesture feeling foolish. It was allowed, but you were shadowed into the bathroom like a fucking child, and you bristled with humiliation.

You were finally dozing, chin tucked into your chest, greedily snatching whatever bit of respite you could, when the door slid open with a faint buzz. Not a single word was exchanged between Ren and his Knight; and a moment later, the guard was gone. 

Drawing in an already exasperated breath, you lifted your head to fix a defiant stare upon your captor, prepared to refuse and deny and fight, ignited by the need to kick and snarl after what he’d put you through today.

The sight of him astonished you to utter stillness, however, stealing any desire you had to rampage your way out of here. He’d come in without his helmet entirely, and his shock of jet black hair was swept across a flushing, red forehead. 

And his face, his beautiful, magnificent face, was bisected by dark surgical tape, running from forehead to cheek and disappearing down into the neck of his shirt. Your eyes trailed it, and his lip quivered when your scrutiny lingered there. 

But it was his eyes, his wild eyes, that strangled your breathing. He was seething, barely containing the war within, and his pupils were blown wide, the only thing marking his turmoil.

“You did this,” he sneered.

You were thunderstruck. How could you have done this when you’d been right here the whole time?

He moved further into the room, setting a small kit down onto the table, and you tracked him, already fortifying your mental wall and willing your breathing into an even pattern. You pressed your lips into a firm line at his silence, biting down on your tongue as he neared, invading your every sense with his presence. His smell, that smoky tinge of death, was tainted by something medicinal, foreign; but then, you thought, so was yours.

You lifted shining eyes up at him when he stepped in front of you and wrapped naked fingers around your throat, unable to stop the immediate gulp his touch kindled. You could feel him tremble with barely-repressed rage, and you clenched your fists tight, refusing to show him how his unnerving silence affected you.

Loud, wailing Kylo Ren promised a beating. Silent, stalking Kylo Ren promised to flay you alive.

You stared, eyebrows drawn together as you studied this new accentuation of his face, wanting to reach out to touch it, trace it. It occurred to you, suddenly, alarmingly, that with a wound like that, he was hurt elsewhere also. You had no earthly idea why you should care if he was unharmed, but you sought the reassurance anyways, wide eyes seeking evidence of further injury hastily. Your gaze lit upon a hole in his shirt, but the skin beneath seemed to be already patched. 

He was intact, mostly unharmed, solid and strong as ever you’d known him to be. Visibly relieved, you dropped back against the chair. When you looked back into his eyes, he was studying you, a strange look upon his face.

“The only wounds I’m bearing right now, trader, are this one,” he gestured at his cheek, “and yours.” 

His voice was liquid acid, and you knew that your face relayed your confusion because you had no idea what he was talking about. Arching a brow at you, as though annoyed by your stupidity, his long, agile fingers tugged his shirt overhead, and you stopped breathing. Your mouth dried out completely, remembering the last time you’d seed him shirtless and the graphic thoughts you’d had trapped beneath him as he force fed you.

He pulled the dark fabric away from his shoulders and tossed it across the room. You followed it with your eyes, watching it slide against the floor. Your thighs clenched tight to quell the ache already building, and you bit down hard on your tongue. You were absolutely convinced, terrified, that if you looked back at Ren, you would be lost to the world, content to let this statue of a man consume you in every way he saw fit.

Ren reached for you, tucking his fingers around your cheek and pushing his thumb into your watering mouth, the idea of his naked torso having tempted your glands to respond. Your chest buckled, torso hunching slightly, because that action, that simple thing, set your cunt to throbbing, never ceasing to electrify you. He used that crude handle to turn your face to his and stroked the underside of your tongue, playing in the pooling saliva. You still looked away, eyes fixed on the jumble of fabric in the corner.

With any other person in the galaxy, you thought, this could have been a tender moment, something delicious between lovers. His low voice could be promising the stars, demanding sinful sighs and moans. But he was talking to you, and you had defied him the last time you were together. You had also, apparently, wounded him in battle.

“Look at what you have done.”

He crouched before you, and the command in his tone brokered no resistance. You obeyed, blowing out a nervous breath as you fixed your eyes upon his face, unwilling to concede more than this, idiotically defiant. Ren slid one hand up your neck and into your hair, fingers curling tight against your scalp. He tipped your head down, forcing you to his will, to look where he wanted you to look.

Ren had lain his forearm in your lap, the lightly-freckled underside turned up to your survey; and on it bloomed a large, mouth-sized bruise, punctuated with small squares of red and purple. 

Teeth.

The thought dropped on you like a bomb. Horrified, you wrenched out of his grasp, but he simply switched one harsh hand for another and showed you the similar affliction on the other side.

You’d never gotten the chance to inspect your own arms, but you knew, to your bones, that his bruises perfectly matched the ones he’d left on your body.

"One blow to this arm," he spat, "one fucking blow was all it took for you to do  _ this _ to me."

He shoved his face into yours, and you could feel his feverish breath. You lifted your unbelieving face towards the ceiling, tears suddenly trailing down into your temples with the emphatic shake of your head.  _ No _ , you thought, you hadn’t done this. This was one of Ren’s manipulations, a ploy to get you to concede you should be punished for his failing in battle, that your very existence somehow distracted him from a world away.

You jerked against the tight lashes at your wrists and tried to stand. If he wanted to take his ire out on you, you would endure it, but it wasn’t your fucking fault, and you weren’t going to accept his blame. 

“Is this why they sent you here? Infect the First Order from the inside and wound me before I ever set foot outside my ship?”

His voice faltered in its ire, and he stood, tearing bits of his own ceiling away, baring a beam that could be wrenched apart and manipulated into a hook. Absent his attention for the moment, you were trying to push against the polished floor to scoot your chair away, but you couldn’t gain enough purchase on the overly-polished tiles. He turned his eyes back to you and halted your plan with a malicious look. 

A tight grip into the cloak tore it away from your body, and you jumped, flooded with mortification at everything that had been done to you today. Your body flushed from ears to toes, and every inch of you tightened under his perusal. You pressed your knees and thighs together, hoping to hide the melting of your insides, but your breasts swelled high and tight, sore and starving for attention.

He stepped behind you and untied your arms, the rope sliding against each groove left in the sore skin until you hissed. Circling, Ren planted his boot upon your pelvis, forcing your thighs apart and pressing down into your pussy. You grunted and contracted under the weight. 

Flustered by his nearness and your body’s response, you pushed at his knee, twisting beneath him, only for him to capture both of your hands and re-bind them. In seconds, you were hauled onto injured feet and hung from the new metal hook in the center of Ren’s chambers, toes barely sweeping the floor.

Eyes glazed and head tipped back, you grappled with self-control, your body familiar with this pose, this swirl of anticipation and dread. You forced your chest into a pattern of deep breathing, preparing for what came next. You knew, too well, there was nothing you could tell him to satisfy his paranoia. He would take his proof, his retribution, from your flesh.

When Ren next stepped into your line of sight, he was wearing only loose trousers, all hard form and vigor, having abandoned anything else that could impede his destructive impulses. Charcoal tresses framed his pale face like a halo, and the tape splitting the skin only amplified the sculpt of his nose and brow. 

He was wide, hulking, long, and lean, a gorgeous, gruesome monster. You drank him in openly, brazenly, knowing that this might be the last time you were offered the option.

You could all but smell it in the room, hanging in the air like heavy spice. Kylo Ren was about to lose himself to his sinister desires. The Child God was coming to demand your invocation, your absolute worship.

Drawing in a steadying breath, you met his assessment head on, watching as his dark, angry stare travelled over every inch of you and flushing crimson in its wake. He grazed the backs of his fingers down your arm, over the tight tip of one breast, across the soft swell of your belly. Holding your stare, he slid his wide hand between your thighs and cupped your newly-shaven sex. You were convinced he could feel the clutch of your pelvic muscles, but you dared not look away.

His nostrils flared, and he drew in a shaky breath, fighting to maintain his discipline. He didn’t look away, fixing his eyes upon your parted lips, and your insides smoldered, dripping down onto his fingers. 

His upper lip curled, and he leaned in, his face hardly a breath away. You desperately wanted to hear his voice, knowing full well it would only be a threat, a promise of the persecution to come.

“Today is the day you break.”

He all but whispered it in your ear, and a bolt of terror shot fissures through your calm veneer. Kylo Ren had never lied to you, and your guts twisted with that absolute fact. You tried to wiggle away, but only swayed in your bondage. You tugged and tore at the column of rope lashing your wrists, desperately attempting to yank down the bit of rebar he’d hung you from. 

Futile; all of it was completely futile. 

Abruptly, Ren sank to his knees, and you gaped, confounded and mesmerized by the sight of him there. He was exquisite, and he looked up at you with such a hunger it stole your breath. 

His fingertips skimmed up the calf of your right leg, and you shuddered, skin raising in gooseflesh, shocked he was capable of such a soft touch. You watched as he lifted your leg and pressed his mouth to the inside of your knee, inhaling the scent of you and trailing his lips in until they lingered at the inside of your thigh.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t process. Kylo Ren was kneeling before you, his face inches from your hot, leaking core, and you could do nothing but watch in abject horror. 

No part of you thought what came next would be pleasant, but your body still hoped for it, yearned for him to bury that angelic face between your legs and suck the life from your body. 

Your breath hitched as he bent your knee over his shoulder, shame diffusing your body a new shade of pathetic as a long bead of arousal dropped onto the floor. His lips parted, hot breath dancing; and suddenly, your instinct kicked in, and you knew what was about to happen. 

Ren’s mouth opened wide, and he sunk into the vulnerable flesh of your inner thigh, all teeth and jaw. You had to look away, it was too tantalizing, the sight of his dark crown latched onto your body tempted you to wicked thoughts, and you shook. 

Tipping your head back, you wailed, gruff and warbled, as he chewed on your trembling leg. You could feel the pulse of your heartbeat amplified by his dental perimeter and him lathing his tongue across it before spreading his jaw wider to suck in more of your battered flesh.  Tears that would only fall at his bidding rose, and you thought he would absolutely tear the offending chunk from your body.

When he finally pulled back, you ripped your leg away, barely suppressing the urge to kick at his shoulder. Heaving, you hung from the ceiling, a bruised and battered tapestry to decorate his otherwise drab surroundings. 

A troubling haze slipped over you and settled, familiar and scandalizing; your body burned for him, blossomed beneath his brutality as though you were created for it. You turned your face into your arm, hiding the scarlet flush as a new surge of your arousal perfumed the air.

“One more, girl.”

_ Nononono. _

Shocked back into awareness, you shook your head, looking down at him through a watery lens. Your mind was screaming, straining to comprehend. This wasn’t even the planned torture. Your face darkened, brow knit, as you realized that you were still making up for yesterday’s escape.

He knelt there, silent and watching you, waiting for the comprehension to spread across your face and stroking the mark he’d just left on your thigh with his thumb. Concentrating on his features, you realized you couldn’t feel his touch. The area was so lost to numb throbbing that you couldn’t pick out the slide of his flesh, and you lamented the loss. 

Biting down on your tongue, you looked up at the ceiling, gripping the pieces of rope you could get to tightly, bracing yourself for the next punishing bite. There was no escape, only endurance.

He tugged your left leg into position, and you squeezed his shoulder tight, unable to stop yourself from trying to change his course, to beg out a few more seconds before the unthinkable happened. As with your arms, knowing what was coming made it worse, and you tried to use the leverage of his shoulder to lift up, push away, anything to prevent him from claiming the skin with his vampire kiss. 

Impatient, Ren captured your body in both hands, sliding one to the outside of your thigh and gripping tight. The other ventured between your legs, and he nudged his thumb into the searing wet of your slit, crooking it in. He splayed large fingers over your ass, pushing your body forwards.

Your brain stuttered, discerning that he’d hooked his thumb into your pussy to hold you the same way he often hooked it into your mouth. Your reaction to this obscene restraint was immediate, consuming. You whimpered and gulped in air, open-mouthed and laboring. You were suspended in this building vortex, both electrified and gutted.

The storm was coming, but you were already soaked to the bone.

The ferocious bite rocked you to your core; it was violently intimate and shockingly effective. You wailed, knee squeezing his shoulder tight, body fighting to decide whether to draw him in or kick him away. You were entirely untethered and floating, lusty and lost to all else but what was happening at your legs. His relentless teeth pulled at your skin, tugging it taut. You could feel his growl when the skin tore, offering up pinpricks of blood to appease his appetite. 

The sum of your existence was reduced to the parts of your body under Ren’s assault, thumping and pulsing with what could only be his heartbeat. Yours was lost, silenced with all the rest of the world.

_ In suffering... _

You heard the loud snarl as he wrenched back from your leg and shot to his feet, but it was far away. He wrapped angry, tense fingers around your throat and squeezed, his stare bitter and demanding, but you were on the way to gone. 

Four days of build-up, four days of unsatisfied lust and anticipation of violence had tipped you into flight, and you blinked up at him dazedly, drifting to where he could not reach, wholly apart from your body and tucked far down deep into your mind, where the darkness was your savior.

_ There is…  _

“You haven’t suffered nearly enough yet, puppet.”

Trading one slit for another, he hooked his thumb, tart with your taste, back into your teeth and jerked your head forward. He slid long, thick fingers against your tongue and into the back of your mouth until your body wretched and heaved of its own volition. You spat onto the floor on a pained wheeze, and he dropped his hand to your chest. Pushing on your back to arch you up, Ren ground punitive knuckles into your sternum until you cried out and thrashed, your mouth impotently begging him to stop.

When he was satisfied that you were here and present, Ren snatched your chin into a harsh grip, forcing you to look at him, groggy and shivering but aware.

“You’re staying right fucking here.”

The venom in his voice stoked your panic, but there was no place to hide. Your body throbbed from chest to heels, every inch of you bearing Ren’s stamp of ownership. 

Shaking away the last of the reverie, you drew in a fortifying breath, closing your eyes to concentrate on rebuilding your dark wall, separating what he wanted from what you needed.

His large fingers stretched across your cheeks, squeezing and pressing in until your teeth parted; he shook your head until your eyes opened and pinned you with his stare, shooting daggers when your eyes strayed to the surgical tape.

“This body is mine,” his voice was steady, quieter than before but full of sharp edges, rattling you.

Your lips quivered, but you couldn’t respond. Every inch of you was at war, and it played across your ruddy face. You wanted to be near him, to have his callous hands on your body. And you wanted to be away from him, to be free of men who would use and abuse you. 

He would never understand, you reasoned; and further, he would never care. 

The little black case he’d brought in flew into Ren’s outstretched hand, and he produced a single, silver scalpel. Your eyes flitted to its curved tip and narrowed, dulled, too acquainted with what came next. Closing off, you slumped against the rope, abandoning all desire to feel, to be here, to struggle. 

You should have known better; no man wants an object that fights back. You’d given him more credit than he deserved; there was nothing new here.

You had thought that Kylo Ren was unique, his ability to ignite you different, unexpected, and unnerving, but he was just a man, exactly the same as all the rest.

“You’re disappointed,” his voice slid over you, caustic, surprised.

He tucked the very tip of the blade into your chin and forced your face up, looking down at you with dark scrutiny. You didn’t look away, but you also didn’t give him the fear he wanted. You couldn’t; he had played his hand, and you’d already survived 100 scalpels. 

Lifting the blade tip from your chin, he wiped the drop of blood against the swell of your lower lip, washing it red. He studied your face, leaned back to further inspect your body. You saw it in his eyes, the moment his decision solidified in his mind.

“You remember who gave you every one of these scars, don’t you? Every moment?”

He knew that you did; this was just another manipulation, a calculated move to draw you out. Ren’s warm hand stroked the largest scar at your thigh, the battle-tough pads dragging. It was a gentle touch, meant to stir you back into responsiveness, but you had nothing else to give him. You looked away, not wanting to see his beautiful, bitter, frustrating face.

“Who gave you this one?”

His voice was low, nearly a whisper as he brushed the puckered skin at the front of your thigh, fingers tracing the edges. You jerked your chin away, eyes pinching tight shut, your brain overrun with the image of Santcha and his hunting knife, the first time he’d hobbled you for displeasing a customer. You spent every day and night fighting to keep the images from bubbling over, and Ren was now dredging it all back up.

“Look at me,” he crooned, clearly aware you'd remembered, exactly as he wished.

Grimacing, ready for him to get the fuck on with it, you lifted your eyes to his just as his scalpel broke skin at the bottom of the scar.

Your lips curled on a curse, but you were unable to move lest you do greater damage yourself. He held your leg in place and opened the scar from knee to thigh, retracing the path of the original wound. You felt the viscous heat well up, bulge out, and spill over to slowly trickle down your leg. 

He captured your face, smudging blood onto your chin, and growled out the word.

“Mine.”

You suppressed a shudder and chewed the inside of your cheek, dark lashes sweeping down against mottled cheeks. You were certain it would be weeks before you could walk properly again, so fixated was Ren upon your thighs. 

In the next breath, bloody fingers pushed past your lips and flattened your tongue, catapulting you into a sputtering cough. Jerking your head back, you shot an angry look at your tormentor, gnashing your red-stained teeth.

“You fucking look,” he snarled, pressing his thumb into the freshly-made wound until you whimpered and twisted.

Gasping as his grip loosened, you fixed your eyes on his ebony nimbus, tracking individual curls and waves to blot out the idea that perhaps you’d been wrong. Ren wasn’t intent upon making new scars, contriving some nonsense excuse for hurting you. He was hurting you because he wanted to, because he delighted in watching you suffer; and he was doing it in exactly the way he had been since you arrived. 

He was using your body against you, corrupting what was already there and claiming it for himself.

At your back, he traced the most prominent scar jutting along your shoulder blade with his fingers, drawing your mind to conjure its origin. You didn't want to think of the time Santcha had stabbed you with a piece of twisted metal, but you were unable to force down the memory. 

Burning tears raced down your cheeks, emulating the blood that now ran down your back, Ren’s blade having claimed a new patch of your skin.

The terror you’d lost came trickling back in. You were covered in scars, head to toe; and if he meant to cut each and every one open, you certainly would not survive the endeavor. 

Your chest seized, and you had to fight to breathe, panic rising up into your mouth, swelling your tongue. His hand settled on the ripe curve of your hip, his touch somehow steadying, galvanizing, and you realized you were also brimming with something unknown, unnamed.

Who better to offer this bloody supplication to than Ren?

You quaked with the internal conflict, wanting him to stop this pain, this pointless exercise, and wanting him to free you from the burden of your past. He would never make you clean, but he could wash away the memory of every man before him by spilling every drop of your blood on his shining floor. If you died here, at his hand, you would be free of them, free of him.

Suddenly, the argument you’d been having over whether or not it was cowardly to die in this captivity was ended. If Kylo Ren wanted to snuff out your life by obscuring every person you’d ever known, every painful moment of your life, you would willingly let him do it.

Your Child God demanded a sacrifice, and you would answer that demand.

“Child God,” he mused, lips at your ear, “Is that what you see?”   


Sternly, you shook him from your head, determined to die just as you’d lived for so long, alone with yourself. 

As though he felt your wall go back up, Ren picked up his pace, slicing all of the scars along your upper arm open one after another. He didn’t care who gave them to you now, only that he would annex every single one into his bloody kingdom. You wept, feeling that every new cut, every new gash inched you towards the divine, the unknowable.

Sluices of claret life ran down your arms, legs, back, dropping onto the floor with a tick tick tick. He brushed his hands through it, caressing the sticky curves of your body. He nudged the tip of his nose into it, inhaling the rich scent and groaning in return.

When you could bring yourself to look, you gaped at the ravenous look rolling across his features. He looked to be starving, long-parched and empty, and your offering, your pliant suffering was the only thing to satisfy his famine.

Reaching up, he pressed the whole of his blood-stained hand at your face, the stick of his palm settling over your lips. You shuddered, the heady iron scent overpowering your senses. Choking on a sob, you arched up, pressing your face against the demanding cover with a groan, remembering how he liked to feel the vibration of your lips. 

You were drunk on his brutality, his absolute ownership, a delirious fog settling over you, and you nodded against his palm.

_ Yes, keep going... _

An appreciative sound rumbled in his chest, and you opened glassy eyes to stare at him. His scalpel and fingers were covered in your blood, and you watched them lift up to the delicate flesh of your inner arms and carve open each indentation he found, first right and then left. You moaned and shook, a wave of heat surged through you from toes to eyelashes, and you yearned for it.

_ Please... _

Ren was meticulous. He and his demanding lancet searched out every crater, every scratch that had ever been made upon your body and reclaimed them, anointed them with his will. 

Your blood pooled on the overly-polished floor, crimson and slate blending together to make raven puddles through which he trudged, leaving inky footprints wherever he stepped. 

He made your body holy, carving out every sin done upon you until there was only him.

Kneeling, he brushed away crimson trails to uncover the large scar at your abdomen, and you jerked awkwardly, a modicum of strength rising and making you suddenly alert and fearful. You couldn’t give him that, couldn’t have him know that, and you tried to twist away. 

_ No, please no... _

He demanded that you look again, but his voice was muffled, far away, and you blinked slow and heavy, trying to focus as he expected. His thumb brushed the distorted, puckered scar, and the memory of your Master plunging the hot knife into your young belly, purposefully ending any chance you would ever have at bearing fruit, sprang to your mind.

The world stilled, and you watched Ren blink at your middle for a moment, as though he were startled by it. You thought that he was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him, kneeling in and covered by your blood, weapon in hand, ready to obliterate you.

Turning your face into your bloody arm, you bit down upon the abused skin, flooding your mouth with liquid iron, just as the blade stabbed into the corner of the first and most difficult of your punishments.

You concentrated on the track Ren’s blade took, searing the picture of him on his knees before you into your mind, imagining that, in another universe, you would lay your hand upon that scar and think of him and not what was taken from you. 

You screamed into your arm, wailing in utter anguish until you could only heave for breath. Your head fell back, and you sagged in the bonds, struggling to remain conscious in the face of such overwhelming torment, feeling, and blood loss.

_ Why did you...No god wants a broken thing…  _

You hadn’t noticed that he stood, nor had you felt that he was pushed up against you, flush against your gory mess. His strong hand slid into your hair, cradling your scalp into his rigid grip. Ren lifted your head and nudged your dirty chin with his nose. His dark eyes searched you over, barely clinging to reality and so far down the deep cavern of yourself.

“Look.”

He commanded softly, almost reverently, and you struggled to comply, letting the weight of your head fall to him completely to support. You had no strength left to obey bodily, but you did manage to open your heavy, heavy eyelids and look at him. The pleased sound you were rewarded with vibrated against your breast and bolstered your desire to stay here in this moment, to wallow in this depravity a little longer.

You marveled at him, at the way such torture ignited him. His eyes burned charcoal black, and his cheeks were flushed, sweat prickling his hairline. He was brushed and spattered with your blood, and it was stark against his white skin, as though you’d bled upon priceless marble. He nudged your chin again, cupping one large hand around your backside and tucking the length of your body into his.

“One more,” he murmured, eyes falling to the stretch of marked skin at your throat.

You swallowed on reflex, but you were too far gone to tremble, to be afraid. This was the moment, you thought. 

_ Yes _ , you offered,  _ slit my throat, end all of this.  _

_ Yes _ , you begged the unknown,  _ make all of this go away, spill my traitor blood and let me slide into the void. _

You pictured Ren cleaving open your throat from ear to ear and wondered if he would finally be satisfied.

Staggeringly, you could still feel the scalpel, feel it rest at the juncture of the two slash marks stretching over your larynx. You pictured Santcha holding you down, staring at you with hate-filled eyes and spitting into the gaping hole he’d just left at your throat. 

Your lower lip trembled anew, curled up with emotional upheaval, and you breathed out a tremulous breath, somehow grateful you were going to die at this madman’s hand instead of anyone else’s.

The sharp edge pierced your skin, and you broke, just as he said you would, wracked with sobs that reverberated as little more than raspy hiccups. Every single moment, from that day to this, had been excruciating, exhausting. You had learned to survive, to endure, but every single day had been so interminably hard. 

And here was the end, you thought, and you were relieved,  **eager** .

You howled your pain, heartbreak, and anger out into the air, abandoning all desire to be strong, to hold back. You were about to expire, and this was your death rattle, this expulsion of everything you’d been forced to swallow down. You gave it all back to the universe.

Accepting your fate, inviting it, the last vestiges of your fortitude bled away, rolling down your body in thick droplets, mingling with sweat and tears. You had been rendered, completely, a dirty, crippled, pathetic wretch of a thing.

Kylo Ren had annihilated you, and you were grateful to him for it.

Wrecked, you collapsed, hanging limp and nearly lifeless from Ren's rafters. You skirted the edge of unconsciousness, vacillating between light and dark, sound and silence. Your body, your spirit, was ready to let go, but Kylo Ren, it seemed, was not ready to allow it. 

Tossing the scalpel to one side, Ren wrapped both hands around your hips and lifted you into his body. He curled your legs around his waist and instructed you to hold on, repeating himself until you registered it and squeezed, slowly hooking your feet together behind him. Standing on his toes, he lifted your bound hands from the bar and draped your bloody arms around his neck, bearing the slump of your weight against his chest.

The feel of the bed at your back was both wonderful and disastrous. Your exhausted, aching body wanted to sink into the mattress forever, but your traumatized, flayed skin didn’t want to touch another thing ever again. You grimaced and grunted softly, displeased by all of the jostling but unable to do anything about it. 

You felt Ren’s fingers at your cheek, smudging already bloody skin with new streaks, and you wondered if he would burn your body, hold you a funeral, or just toss you into the compactor.

“Come back here, puppet.”

The feel of his hard knuckles on your sternum again pinched your face into a crumple, and you choked on a breath, recently mobile hands coming up to clutch at his wrist, trying to push him away. You huffed, panting and wheezing until you realized he was knelt between your thighs, looming over you and blotting out everything else.

_ I’m here. Fuck, I’m here... _

You pushed at his hands again, not recognizing that you were throwing your thoughts out for him to catch, or how his eyes flashed something dark, demanding. You looked up at him and watched as he licked his lower lip, smearing red into pink. 

He reached for the rope still binding your wrists together and slowly lifted them over your head. Your heart rate kicked up, lips parting on a shiver.

Ren shifted so that he was lying beside you, one hand stretching the rope high over your head, taking note as each movement of your body spurred a cut into a new line of angry red. His eyes raked over you hungrily, and you pressed your legs together tight, willing yourself not to undulate or beg for more of his touch.

His hand came down at your chest, fingers pressing into a gash just beneath the collarbone until it produced a new offering For him, and you hissed, squinting in an attempt to process the sting. 

Scooping up the viscous reward, Ren dropped his hand to your breast, brushing bloody fingertips across your nipple, lubricating the hardening tip so it rolled and slid between his fingers. You gasped and arched upwards, abandoning your decision to not do exactly that, and pressed further into his touch.

“You do suffer beautifully, puppet.”

His voice was nearly tender, and you stilled at this new name. He had said it before, but you had been too enthralled to notice.

Again, he pushed down on your weeping laceration and gathered up the thick fluid. Lifting two fingers to your mouth, he slid them past your chapped lips, feeding you the very blood from your veins. Your hips did rock for him this time, your eyes rolled back into your head, and your tongue curled around his fingers ardently, mouth reverberating on a moan. 

Stealing his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, Ren dipped his head and licked at your lips, drawing a lewd whimper and a jerk against your restraints that you didn’t get more than that. He practically purred at your display and brushed your nose with his. 

It didn’t occur to you that he was distracting you until you felt the fingers that had just been in your mouth push into the gaping wound at your thigh.

It was sinful, vulgar, and you shook with the realization that he was stroking the wound slowly, up from the bottom, the way you imagined he would stroke your pussy. You surged forward into a shameless arc, straining to be nearer to Ren’s chest, his face, anything that was right fucking there but so far way.

_ Please… _

The growl rumbled in his chest, and your hips danced for it, punching down into the mattress to create a perfect cradle for his body, his hand. His strokes became more insistent, fingers pushing into the wound’s edges, and you grimaced and twisted, imagining the way his fingers looked dipping down into your blood. 

He had done nothing but torture you since he’d returned to this room, and you were practically coming undone beneath him, the exquisite agony of it all inching you nearer and nearer an orgasm you were certain would eviscerate you, empty you of everything but Ren’s perilous legacy.

Each brush and push of his fingers loosed a new surge of blood, until you were sure his whole massive hand was covered. He was watching you shake, your eyes wide as you descended down into this frenzy with him. 

He leaned down to your ear at the same moment his bloody fingers pushed between your swollen labia, sliding into your aching cunt with no resistance at all, slick from your debauched need and the blood he’d fucked from your thigh.

“Cum for me, puppet. Now.”

Shot into the heavens, there was nothing for you to do but obey on a cracked, scratchy wail. Hot sparks sizzled across your brain, and your body spasmed, clenching impossibly tight around his thick, pumping fingers. Battered thighs spread apart, the neglected chasm of your pussy opening wide for his command, and you quaked in deference to his order. Your hips rode that manic wave, circling and bucking until the tempest crested, leaving you to stunted tremors and spotty vision. 

You slumped against the mattress, debased and exhausted. Tears burned your eyes, and you shook your head, positive you couldn’t endure any more. Ren’s fingers slid from your core, and he fed them to you again, coated with your slick and gore, the pungent, coppery taste sliding along your tongue. 

He tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting your face and gaze to him, and waited, still and patient, until your throat worked and you swallowed. You burned with humiliation and lusty abandon, wondering if there were no limits to which this man could push you.

You blinked at him, eyes crinkling, concern blossoming. You couldn’t really see him clearly anymore, the details blurring to just a shadow, a figure hovering over you.

You were fading fast to darkness. Part of you wondered if this would truly be death this time, if Ren would actually let you go.

“No. You are mine."

His voice, his claim, was the last concrete thing you registered, and you nodded your agreement, let loose a satisfied sigh, and slipped into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not post my work anywhere else without my express permission.


	6. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Gods and slaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers? What? 
> 
> As always, thanks for sticking around this long if you're still here. Feedback is always welcome.

Day Six

It was the sound of his voice that stirred you, nudging into your gray matter and beckoning you back from bleak emptiness. Your brow creased, and you exhaled, uneven and apprehensive. You flexed aching fingers and toes, forcing the stiff joints to cooperate.

“Find them,” he ordered, his voice strong but low, “I don’t care how. Find them.”

Red-rimmed, puffy eyes broke open, and you squinted, the glare of the light cycle offensive and irritating. You grumbled at the very idea of bright light and struggled to sit up. As your brain kicked into gear, you took stock of your situation.

This was the same torture chamber, that was your blood staining the floor, and it was your filth in the sheets. Licking your chapped lower lip, you worked to put puzzle pieces together. Your Knight guard had brought you to these chambers yesterday, Ren’s chambers.

You’d slept in Ren’s bed.

Had he? Your breath caught on the idea that he had stayed with you. If he had stayed, what did it mean that he was still here? If he hadn’t, why had he let you sleep here?

Shaking off the unnecessary, relentless pondering of your brain, you rubbed at your eyes and hunched forward. Every part of you ached as though you’d been ejected into space, compressed and redistributed in the wrong order. You grimaced and shifted, slowly dragging your legs off the side of the bed, mentally preparing yourself to bear weight.

Drawing in a rough breath, you shifted your survey from surroundings to immediate. The state of your body evenly matched the state of this room. You were caked in dried blood, painted with hand prints, droplets, and innumerable streaks and smudges. Ren had cut open every one of your scars; he’d left nothing unclaimed.

Sometime in the night, though, your wounds had been tended, and you were now decorated in patches of surgical tape.

The memory of his hands, his scalpel, propelled you forward, scooted you to the edge of the bed. If you kept moving, kept working to survive, maybe you’d be able to outrun the repeated, vibrant images of his relentless torment and your body’s exuberant rejoinder. You couldn’t escape Ren; but perhaps, you could escape the memory of his effect upon you.

Pushing against the mattress, you bit firmly into your lip, thinking this endeavor was every bit as torturous as Ren’s blade. Your legs burned and wobbled like it was your first time to stand. The soles of your feet throbbed, but you made little, shuffling steps. Tears tumbled down to wash tracks into the blood staining your cheeks, and you pinched your eyes tight together.

For a long moment, you just stood there, willing your body to be strong, begging your stupid eyes to dry.

The door slid shut, and you could hear him moving back into the room, but you were trying too hard not to fall to give him much attention. It was taking all of your effort to stand and squeeze your fists together, too far away from the bed to sink back into its support but uncertain that your legs would hold you much longer. The idea of crumpling into a mess on the floor was less than appealing, but it was unavoidable, you decided.

You could feel him behind you, but you couldn’t look. He was a looming dark planet, the center of your universe now, and you could feel how fast you were hurtling through the Galaxy. Heat danced along your skin, and you shook your head, trying to clear away the flashes of his eyes, twin comets burning a bright swath of destruction in their wake.

You’d been so willing to let him end your life, but he hadn’t, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

You'd given him your ultimate prayer, your whole body supplication, and he had decided it wasn't good enough. He hadn't granted you the absolution you'd sought.

Ren didn’t move; and as always, it unnerved you so much that you turned your head to look at him. The pity you felt for yourself abated instantly. He was also still painted with your offering, ruddy constellations mingling with vast swatches and trails. His dark tresses were clumped together, matted with congealed blood. 

The sight of it was jarring. 

Why would he spend the night in your blood? Why hadn’t he washed away your filth and gore? Was it a war prize, some malicious badge of honor to mark your breaking? Did that mean the war for your body was over?

You were filled with too many questions and only one answer. Your blood on his body looked magnificent. 

He was wild, feral, a savage, dogged creature they would tell stories about for millennia to come. The great monster in the dark.

The varying shades of crimson and obsidian framed his face and his body as though he had been carved directly from the middle of a volcano, white hot in the center bleeding outwards to ruddy and then midnight black.

But it was his eyes that captivated you, as always. His greedy gaze slid over you, roving around bruised curves and raised scratches. He lingered on the bloody palm print on your breast, and it tightened for him obediently. His eyes raked down to your thighs, and you stopped breathing.

You were trapped by the promise of brutality and lust you saw there.

Ashamed of the way you'd reacted to him, the way you were still reacting to him, you shied away from his stare, dizzy and struggling to stay upright. Your insides were twisted, your equilibrium was thrown off as though you’d been pushed too far out of his gravitational field. You were tumbling into anxious awareness, your brain firing off question after question.

What could you offer that hunger in return when what you'd already given hadn’t been enough? What else were you expected to produce when the sum total of everything you were had been rejected, discarded?

Broken and battered, you were nothing short of empt--

"Beautiful," he cut off your thought.

It was soft, nearly under his breath. You snorted louder than you intended and shook your head, completely disbelieving. Beautiful? Riddled with bruises and scars? You looked down at yourself, tracked with dried blood and surgical tape. Certainly not.

He was on you in a second, covering the distance in two long strides. His demanding hands took hold of your body, turning you and pulling you flush against him. His left hand slid around your throat, tightening and shifting your face to look up at him; his right hand dropped down to cup your backside, rubbing and squeezing the shapely mass.

" **My** bruises," he murmured, " **my** scars."

His voice was husky, ravenous, and he dropped his face down to nudge your jaw with his nose. What could you say in response to that? They _were_ his bruises and scars now. You'd never think of them in any other way.

You swallowed nervously, pressing against his chest where your hands were trapped, fingers splaying. Your body, injured though it was, flooded with his nearness. Sweat dampened your brow, and a blush crept up your cheeks. Your thighs quivered, and you pressed them together to staunch the familiar twinge. Wanting pooled low in your belly, and your lips parted on a stuttered breath.

Your clearing eyes focused on the expanse of skin under your fingers, and you realized that this was the first time you’d touched him. He'd had his hands on you for days, but you’d never been granted the return opportunity. Stunned, you pressed the palms of your hands into his pecs, feeling his heartbeat. The existence of his pulse awed you.

Your Child God truly was a man, but he was such a man as you had never seen. He was marble, chiseled by the hand of war and kept sharp by a ceaselessly demanding master. There was no softness here, no gentleness, and there would never be mercy.

You grimaced, huffed out a breath, and let your gaze travel further to take in more of his alabaster skin and alluring, dark beauty marks. How unnecessary to decorate an already magnificent work of art, you thought, but how utterly perfect they looked upon him.

But something was wrong.

Your eyebrows drew together, worry playing over your face. Yesterday, he was pure and nearly flawless, his only injury being the wound traversing his face. Yesterday, he had been wholly transcendent in his perfection.

Today, his body was marred, corrupted by lines and lesions that should not be there. Beneath the russet stains, he was bearing the wounds of a different sort of battle, an impossible struggle.

Eyes blown wide with the memory of yesterday's accusation, you jerked backwards in his embrace, pushing his arms away so you could examine more of his body. Your trembling fingers ran over arms, ribs, shoulders, lingering on all of the pink and red scratches that now danced with brown freckles.

_No…_

You recognized the pattern you saw on his flesh. You’d been mapping that exact calligraphy for years. You were too horrified to cry, to be ashamed or apologetic. You reached up and swept anxious fingers at the hollow of his throat, tracing the too-familiar jagged lines.

And he let you. Ren held you loosely, one hand splayed across your back while the other continued to stroke your ass and hip. He watched you, dark eyes trained to your face, keeping his silence as you discovered not just his body but the effect he wanted you to believe you'd had upon it.

_You..._

“No,” he tipped your chin up, “I told you yesterday. You did this.”

You shook your head, pushed against him, and tried to step back, emphatically disagreeing with his crazy assertion. Ducking down swiftly, Ren lifted you over his shoulder, affording you the view of his newly scratched-up back, and carted you into the bathroom.

You flinched from the automatic light, instinctively burying your face against his shoulder as the false blue flooded the room to hurt your eyes. Ren outstretched his hand at the fixture, blew out half of the little halogen bulbs, and cast the bathroom in a less harsh glow. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed at his back, wiggling in his grip.

Ren set you on still hurting feet and turned you before a large, floor-to-ceiling mirror built against one of the walls. You tried to step away, not wanting to see the results of his ravaging, but he pushed you back into place, turning your head and forcing you to face your reflection.

As before, you were shocked by the woman you saw there. She was as feral as Ren, savage and shameless. There were dark circles under her eyes from overuse, and she was painted an astonishing array of colors that amplified every curve, accentuated every muscle.

That woman, you thought, was not surviving. She was thriving.

You still didn’t know what it meant that she was you, and you were too exhausted for much more.

When Ren stepped behind you, you choked and gaped at him in the mirror. He’d shucked his pants and pressed into your backside, wrapping a long arm around your middle, his forearm nestled beneath your breasts. He tipped your head to one side and cleared away your hair so that he could drop his face into that crook. 

Your brow knit at the familiarity of it, recalling the way he’d positioned you exactly like this in the shower. He’d tucked the length of his erection at the crest of your ass, and he’d kept you flush against the long column of his body. Being fully inside his orbit produced an immediate, visceral reaction, and you shook inside his embrace.

You stared at the picture in the mirror. His wide shoulders and strong arms caged you, hulking in the background. His dark halo was dipped down, his face buried into your neck. The devil wrapped around you, come to claim his prize.

He drew in a deep, satisfied breath, and you couldn’t help but think you smelled like a barn. Hardly a fit sacrifice for such a demanding, devoted demon. He smirked against your skin, and your eyes widened impossibly further. You were so wrapped up in concern, you hadn't noticed.

He’d done it. He’d broken into the stronghold, and he could hear you.

Ignoring your shock, Ren stroked your stomach gently, slowly. His middle finger rubbed over your belly button, and it felt so incredibly good that you visibly shuddered. When he started speaking, you felt the vibration of it at your throat, understanding why he liked it so much. It was a subtle gesture, but it was powerfully seductive.

“There are as many ways to use the Force,” he said, “as there are species in the Galaxy.”

He raked thick fingers down your arm and encircled your wrist. Turning the inside of your arm upwards, he tracked the bruise he’d left there with his thumb before turning his arm up to show you his matching bruise in the same spot, and you stopped breathing.

“It is everywhere” he continued, “even when you don’t know it.”

He curled your arm up against your chest, and you took the opportunity to hug yourself, eyes watering as he kept on. Nuzzling into your hair, he pressed his lips at the very back of your neck while nimble fingers danced down the lengthy scar at your thigh, pinching at the surgical tape.

"And it is accessible to everyone, anyone if they can feel it." 

Pulling you closer by one large hand at your hip, he snuggled his growing erection between your buttocks on a satisfied hum. His arm slithered up your torso, sliding against your sternum and between your breasts until long fingers wrapped around your neck to squeeze. You couldn’t look away as he shifted so that his leg slid against yours, the discordant but matching line peeking through his dark leg hair.

"Like you." 

You were stunned into utter stillness; you couldn’t even breathe. The things he was saying couldn’t possibly be true. You were nobody from nowhere. You’d been sold into slavery as a child, and you’d spent your life just trying to survive. There was no Force sensitivity here.

“My grandfather was a slave,” he murmured against your temple, “and he was the most powerful Force-user in the Galaxy.”

_I’m not your grandfather…_

“Do you need more proof, puppet? There's plenty."

His hand dropped to palm at the tape stretching across your abdomen, squeezing the swell of your belly in his broad hand. He was goading you into turning around to see if he had a matching one, but you knew he did. 

Ren hadn’t ever lied. If he said that you did this, you were going to have to believe that you did. Unlike the day before, he’d been with you in this room the entire time, and you’d woken to a flushing lattice covering his body.

You shook your head to his question, hoping instead he would explain how you’d been able to accomplish this miraculous feat when you were just a weaponer from the desert.

_How..._

“You used to scream into the desert,” he offered, settling his chin on top of your head and talking to you in the mirror.

“The only time you would let your guard down was then, and you would unleash all of your rage, your pain. You taught yourself to unburden all of that anger and hurt by pushing it out into the stars.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice rather than his words because they were nauseating; this could not be real. Everything he said was true, though; and worse, him knowing those things meant that he’d truly been in your head, diving into your thoughts, memories, history. 

"When that wall comes down," he murmured, fingers stroking the supple side of your breast, "you communicate the only way you can. They took your voice, but your body found a way. You found a way."

At some point during his instruction, you'd latched your fingers onto his thick arm and were holding it as though he would save you from this. The tears he had been building spilled over, clamoring down your trembling chin.

"You can make whomever might be around you feel what you're feeling."

The weight of what he was telling you settled; his words rang in your ears. You thought about the last two days and how your wall had been fractured on the first day, resulting in the bruises on his arms. And then, you replayed yesterday when it was all but obliterated and you had pushed out all of your outrage and suffering as you readied yourself to die.

Ren was telling you that you were Force-sensitive, and he was offering his body as proof to that fact. 

For a second, you wondered why he was telling you this, why he was being nice. Wouldn’t it be better to keep someone who could literally wound you with their feelings in the dark about something like this? Ignorance made for better prisoners, you knew that for a fact.

Opening your eyes, you met his stare in the mirror. It surprised you that he was being so open, and you had so many questions.

_Ren..._

“Kylo,” he said simply, and you blinked, bewildered.

“My name is Kylo. Ren was…,” he paused, seeming to search for a proper description, “...a different man.”

Curiosity having been forgotten with this kernel of information, you let your gaze wander your reflection. You studied each line of black tape, each scratch you assumed was closed with a cautery pen. You lingered over bloody fingerprints, long tracks running down your legs, the pool of crimson at the juncture of your thighs.

He held you like that for a long time, quiet and still, fingers barely grazing different bits of your skin, giving you time to assimilate the information. Often, your eyes would stray to him, this package of tightrope composure and bombast.

This man was a monster. He delighted in torturing you, making you suffer and cry. You’d never seen a person so fully alive as he was covered in your blood and carving up your flesh. He lived up to every inch of his reputation.

And you had survived his wrath, the explosion of his violence.

Twice.

An appreciative hum vibrated against your back, and his face dipped down against your ear. He stroked the soft skin where thigh met groin, keeping you tucked against him with an arm around your stomach. He rocked his hips into you, pushing his swollen dick between your buttocks. Your lips parted on an eager gasp, and you couldn’t help yourself from leaning your head back against him, pressing your ass into his thrusts.

“You did,” his tone was low, “And you will.”

The absolute certainty in his voice chilled you, and nervousness trickled in. He still meant to keep you, the war for your body was not over, and this was not a tender moment. 

You thought back to the floor he’d pinned you to when he learned you’d stopped eating. This reprieve, this cease-fire of suffering, was not a result of kindness. He was simply ensuring you wouldn’t be broken beyond repair so that the misery could continue tomorrow.

“Smart girl,” he whispered in your ear before standing upright and unwinding from around you.

A frown flitted across your face because him being able to hear your thoughts was disabling, intimidating, but you swallowed it down because you were simply too flabbergasted, too weak, and too starved to fortify yourself against it. Maybe you’d be able to work on it tomorrow; but tonight, you just needed to recover.

Ren ushered you through a hot shower, washing away the remnants of last night’s bloody agony. The hot water and steam lulled you into a spacey relaxation, and you put up absolutely no resistance when his fingers stopped washing and began to play your body like an instrument. You told yourself it certainly wasn't because you craved his touch.

He let the lie slide.

He plucked and tugged at your nipples until they throbbed to attention. He dipped his fingers between your ass cheeks and rubbed at the tender opening until you arched and gasped, breathless. He slid his fingers between your labia and rubbed soapy circles into your clit until you danced up onto your toes, and he pumped two deft fingers into your cunt just long enough to have you shuddering before lifting his hand to the water, washing away the bits of blood he’d fucked up into you yesterday.

And then he sat you on the shower floor, dissatisfied and scooted out of the way like furniture, while he bathed himself. You bristled for a moment, but it dissolved as you watched. You marveled at him, watching his impressive hands move quickly over thick arms and legs, coloring the water pink with every pass.

Ren towered over you, and he was nothing short of spectacular. Every inch of him was immense, battle-forged, and the scars that now decorated his body, your scars, only amplified the cords of muscle working beneath the skin. You found yourself wondering if he trained for all of those muscles or if he’d just killed enough people that they were natural now.

He tipped his head back into the water, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob. You let your gaze travel over him without reservation, and you followed each of his ribs and the dark line of fuzz that led down from his belly button to the thick patch at his pelvis. You were watching the way his cock was lengthening when you caught yourself, flushed at what you’d been doing, and looked away.

Your eyes caught on his thigh, though, and you blinked. He’d gone to great lengths to prove to you that he was wearing all of your bruises, but the memory of those at your thighs had escaped you entirely. Recalling the way his mouth had claimed your skin, you grazed at your thigh, poking your fingernail into the flourishing purple.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and brushed your fingertips against the discoloration on his skin, thinking it was so out of place.

Ren had stopped washing, hands folded behind his neck, and was staring down at you. His abdomen was clenched tight, his skin was flushing a lovely shade of pink, and his nose was red from the hot water. Something you couldn’t name punched up through your lungs leaving you breathless. 

You weren’t sorry. How could you be sorry when you hadn’t known it was you?

But seeing something of you, this intimate mark of yours, on this man’s body stirred something primal and moved you to act. The rational part of you screamed that you should stop, but the part of you hungering for this beast propelled you onto your knees before him, wanting some part of the bruise to actually be yours.

Your eyes weren’t drawn to his cock, swollen with arousal and standing proud inches from your face. Instead, your stare fixed upon his thigh, fingers tracing it again lightly.

You looked up at him, the question unnecessary because he certainly already knew what was in your mind. He nodded once, barely perceptible, giving you the permission you sought. Licking your lips, you readied and focused upon your target.

He hissed when your quivering lips connected with his leg, your nose rubbing into the softer, upper thigh hair. You trembled, thinking surely you had gone insane, but you licked at the soapy skin anyways, roaming the circumference of his bite mark with your tongue tip. You glanced up at him to find him watching you intently, his stare delicious and wanting.

Ren nudged your knees apart with his foot, spreading your thighs further so he could look down at the bites he’d left you with, evidence of his viciousness. He was pleased with himself, with his handiwork, and it rumbled up through his chest.

When you followed his eyes, faltering in your task, he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and pulled your mouth back to his thigh. In your periphery, you could see him wrap his big hand around his fat, neglected cock and stroke slowly. You burned at the idea that he was fucking himself millimetres away from your hot mouth and sucked at his bruise.

He hummed when your teeth nipped at the skin, and you reveled in the sound. It amazed you that you could make that happen.

With a lusty growl, his pace picked up, and you could hear his fist insistently working his cock, the slaps echoing off the tile. He anchored you to his thigh, fingers tight at your neck, and you purred against the skin. His breath was coming shorter now, and you lifted your eyes up to look at his face, salivating at the sight.

He was breathtaking, flushed with desire, dark hair shining onyx from the water, eyes heavy-lidded as he pleasured himself. 

Emboldened, you inched nearer, slid your arm beneath his leg, and lifted him onto your shoulder, mirroring the very way he’d held you the night before. The same heat that flooded you beneath his lightsaber returned, and you wrapped your suddenly brave hands around his hips, tilting them towards your mouth.

Opening wide, you sunk your teeth into the meat of his thigh, drawing the falsely-bruised skin deep into your mouth.

“Fuck!”

He barked it out and tangled fingers in your hair, holding you exactly there while you sucked and bathed his skin with your tongue. His tempo was hurried now, skipping, and you growled against him, knowing he liked to feel your chest, your mouth vibrate. 

Remembering all of the ways he’d tormented you, you opened your jaw wider to draw more of him in, bit down again, and turned your head from side to side, yanking and tearing at the, now appropriately, discolored flesh.

On a snarl, he yanked your head back from his thigh and slid his leg from your shoulder. You licked your puffy lips but didn’t dare look at him fisting his cock; you couldn't be certain you wouldn't beg for it. Rather you looked up at his face the way he’d forced you to look up at him that first day, suppliant and worshipful.

You were the hungry beast now, eyes wild and wanting, skin flushed and tight. He affected you in ways no person ever had, but he couldn't pretend you didn't affect him, too. It was a heady, heady thing.

“Open.”

His harsh grip tipped your head back, and you sunk your weight into your knees. You knew it was an inviting picture, your thighs spread wide, breasts pushed together between your arms, swollen lips parted and ready. You knew he loved seeing himself all over your body, and you wallowed in it, groveling for the way he looked at you.

Like property.

But you knew you were unlike any he'd had before or would in the future.

The sounds he made were sinful, incredible, and you yearned for them, desire dribbling hot onto the tiles beneath your cunt. His breath was choppy, and he was staring down at you so fiercely you thought you might burst into flames. 

Ren’s hulking shoulders hunched forward, his torso curving in as he neared orgasm, and you moaned at the sight, the raspy sound swallowed by the rush of the shower and the pained groans spilling from above. Lost to the carnality, you reached out to wrap your hand around his calf, needing the contact.

That was all it took, the last bit of what he needed.

You saw the moment his body loosened, the flash of it across his face, and his shoulders eased back, hips pushing forward. For a second, he was trapped between anxious build-up and explosive relief, and he held his breath. His grip on his cock tightened, his strokes changing from fast and loose to slow and tight.

He erupted into a breathy groan as the first salty drops hit your tongue, and you squirmed on an impatient whimper, the taste of him overpowering your senses. He was salty, spicy, tart, and it flooded your tongue, sliding down into your throat.

Ren held his cock right above your face as he came, the inflamed, red-purple head barely resting on your lower lip. He squeezed and milked all of his release into your waiting mouth, chasing the last bits of release with low, gravelly moans. 

When he finally released his grip on his dick, readying to pull away, your pearly tongue shot up to curl against the very end, lips closing around the sensitive tip and kissing away that last drop before swallowing down his taste.

It was bold, stupid, reckless, and so fucking worth it.

His eyes darkened impossibly further, and he snatched your face between harsh fingers, bent forward, and kissed you before you could clear his cum fully away. His tongue pushed past your teeth and invaded the cavern of your mouth, sliding through the salty mix on a satisfied sigh.

You'd tasted him twice in as many minutes, and you were sure you'd never be the same. It was magnetic, delirious, obscene, and you were scorched in the wake of it.

Gathering you into his arms, Ren reached back to turn off the shower and herded you back into the bathroom proper. In minutes, he had you dried and back in the bed, a tray of food at your side. You watched him pull on clothes, uncertain of why you felt the way you did, empty and confused, satisfied and pleased, defeated and victorious.

When he was fully dressed, he stepped back around to the side of the bed, wrapped his fingers around your throat, and squeezed until you looked up at him, as though you could look anywhere else when he was so near.

The gesture felt almost intimate now, his way of centering you always back to him. 

“Eat. Sleep. There’s a guard outside. I trust you understand the consequences if you try to escape again."

_You’re going to beat me no matter what; so, does it matter?_

Your eyebrow perched up high, daring him to argue or prove you wrong. 

Ren's luscious lips turned up at the corners, his amusement obvious, and he slid his indecently-long index finger into your mouth. Pushing past your hard palette, he hooked that finger and caught the ridge separating the roof of your mouth from the soft of your throat, sending you into a sputter. He pulled you closer by this crude latch and looked into your watering eyes.

“Indeed, I am.”


	7. Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he wants more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK YOU GUYS -- Look, if you're here this far in, you know this is some dark shit. So, please heed this warning: This is a DARK, heavy kink chapter. SO, some things...
> 
> 1\. The content herein has been dramatized for effect, but this is real shit that happens in the real world. Please feel free to ask me any questions.  
> 2\. If you feel the need to explore anything here further, do your research and be risk aware.  
> 3\. Strap in. This is some shit.  
> 4\. 50 points to your house if you spot the FYA reference. :)

Day Seven

It was a flicker of a moment, a subtle jolt of injected power, when the night cycle ended and day officially began.

_What day is it?_

Today was the first time you wouldn’t stumble to consciousness or fight through a fog. You were still embroiled in questions, though. Ren told you that you’d been here four days, but how many days ago was that?

You decided it was simply too surreal for you to actually be here, to be in your body, in Ren’s room, on board his ship. Each time you thought up a level, you felt smaller and more insignificant. Maybe you really had died. Maybe you’d bled out on his floor, and this was your afterlife.

_No, not that lucky…_

Your eyes were dry and red from so much crying. Your body was beyond battered, a landscape of harm and wound, mania and furor. You wore the hue of bruise like a new catsuit, covered by Ren’s painful passion from throat to toes.

The idea that some part of you would hurt, sting, throb, or ache every day you were with Ren had been hard to swallow; but a week into this persecution, you knew it to be fact.

_How long until he breaks bones?_

Sitting in the center of his great, wide bed, you ran your fingers over the still-bloody sheets and contemplated the last however many hours. Ren made it clear that he still meant to keep you, and the idea was solidifying more and more in your brain. You pondered whether or not you would be allowed to leave this fucking room as his personal pet.

Having spent a lifetime under open skies, being caged inside four walls for days, weeks, maybe months sent your anxiety into overdrive. The notion that you would only ever see light cycles and never again sunlight strangled you, chased away all your air. At some point, you knew you would try to flee again just for a damn change of scenery. 

After he’d left, you complied with Ren’s instructions insomuch as you did eat and did not try to escape. Sleep, on the other hand, was put to the back burner because you were still in his chambers. Even if he didn’t spend all of his time here, these were his things, and they could tell you a great deal. With the guard outside this time, you simply could not pass up the opportunity to explore.

The room was eloquent in its simplicity and deliberate in its function. You ran fingers and palms over all of the flat surfaces, seeking out hidden drawers or levers in the walls and along the sides of the bed. Everything was dark gloss, industrial in its execution and easily maintained.

Of note, there was a threshold of polish right at the door, a long stretch just on the inside where the shine was high. However, that luster faded two or three steps inside. Ren did not allow people in his room often, even a cleaning crew.

Defeated, you slunk back to the bed. You’d checked all of the hiding places you would use, but you found nothing. Ren either didn’t have anything to hide or he was exceptionally good at it.

Sometime in the night cycle, you’d awoken alone in an empty bed, struggling with this swirling sense of loneliness. Captors didn’t usually sleep with prisoners, but weren’t you more than a prisoner now? With a scowl, you shook the stupid thought from your head.

You were an object to him, easily discarded and forgotten.

You hadn’t slept much after that. You curled onto your side, facing the vacant side of the bed and overrun with disquiet, anticipation. You were faced with warring options. Relent and become the devil’s plaything or escape and be hunted. The bitter truth was you wanted both, and this was not the sort of universe to grant such possibilities.

Morning came, food was delivered, and you were still alone. 

Now, you were trying to forget the familiarity you thought you’d seen in Ren’s eyes yesterday, trying to wash it down the damnable drain. He was no more capable of gentleness than you were of speech. Trying to smother the ache, you turned the shower up as hot as you could handle and drifted into distraction, turning inward in a forlorn bid to comfort yourself.

The darkness that had always been there for you, though, was an empty consolation. Ren had blown apart every part of you and stomped on the ashes; he’d even taken your blessed darkness, the one place you could hide. Because when you closed your eyes to sink into that blissful nothingness, you saw him, his bloody face, his burning eyes.

Kylo Ren had infected every part of you, right down to the subconscious.

When you could pity yourself no more, you turned off the shower, scraped the water from your body as best you could, and purposefully avoided your reflection. The woman in the mirror wanted you to make choices you weren’t sure you could live with.

Exiting the bathroom, you were stopped dead in your tracks by the sight of Ren sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. He had a smallish black case to his left and was resting with one arm on a bent knee, his long body relaxed and waiting for you.

You were irked by how beautiful and calm and unhurried he looked. Must he always look so put together when you only ever felt on the verge of shattering into dirty, unrecognizable pieces of yourself?

_Hi..._

“You haven’t eaten today.”

He gestured over his shoulder to the tray that still had food on it. You were flushed from the hot water and stark fucking naked, but you burned redder at the idea that you were going to be punished like a child for not eating. Again. 

Canting your head a bit, you gestured towards the shower. You’d wanted to wash away the feel of dry, endlessly recycled air, dirt, and shame before you did anything else. Conquering the day wasn’t on your agenda, but surviving it was.

“Good,” he looked you over speculatively, and your eyebrows shot to your hairline.

He’d shoved food directly into your throat to make sure you were decently-nourished; and now, he didn’t care if you ate? The speed with which this man changed course made your head swim, and you just stared at him, complete irritation plastered all over your face. 

_Fucking pick one, would you please?_

The withering look he leveled at you set your blood to boiling. You’d forgotten that he could hear you now; but by the darkness in his eyes, you knew he’d be sure you didn’t forget again.

“Come here.”

You tensed, arms crossing over your chest as though you could armor yourself against him. For a second, you couldn’t make yourself move. He wanted you to willingly deliver yourself to his torment. 

A shiver worked its way up your spine, blossoming into sparks at the back of your brain, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pining. If you refused, he would simply put his angry hands on your body and bend you to his whim. You didn’t know what would happen if you complied without a fight.

Taking in a steadying breath, you closed the distance on tender steps, the soles of your feet still bothered at bearing weight so soon. Stopping when you were within arms reach, you looked past him to study the kit he’d brought, uncertainty wrinkling your forehead. 

It was a med kit, a field kit. You’d carried one yourself for years, but your wounds had already been tended. You were littered with surgical tape and Bacta patches.

What could he possibly need a field kit for?

_Are you hurt?_

Ren’s rough hand slid up along the curve of your body, settling at your waist and sending fissures of desire playing along the swell of your belly. Your knees and thighs pressed together, and you shifted under his appraisal. He’d seen you naked before. Multiple times, in fact. But this felt different, affectionate. He had stripped you completely bare, laid out your mind and soul for him to reanimate at will.

Feeling naked in front of this man was about more than just your flesh.

Digging his fingers in, he maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. All of the tension you’d washed away in the shower came barreling back. Every muscle was tight, and every synapse was screaming that you needed to get away.

Sat like this, unrestrained before him, you fidgeted, frightened. Your heart drummed so loud you thought he could certainly hear it. When he was silent and calm like this, you were lost to apprehension, images of lightsabers inside your body where they shouldn’t be flooding your mind. You could likely conjure up more ways for him to murder you than he could.

Just as worrisome, you couldn’t look away. He captivated you each time he was in the room. His dark irises gleamed as he held your stare, his full lips curving up on a smirk. He was daring you to look away first.

He won.

You wilted from the intensity of his gaze, turning your inflamed face away and averting your eyes. In your stupor, you didn’t realize that he was talking to you. The only thing you could hear was the metronome of your heart, its pace quickening moment by moment.

Displeased that he had to draw back your attention, Ren’s hand was around your calf, fingers pushing in between the muscles and rubbing demandingly. You glared and hissed, twisting your legs together, knees tight.

_What!_

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and swept his thumb along your mouth, smoothing away the bothered sneer. When your lips relaxed, he pushed in and hooked his thumb into your teeth the way you hated, the way you loved.

Your core clenched as he tugged you forward. He brought you nose to nose, so close you could feel his warm breath. He cleaved apart your desire to fight, soothing you into compliance with weaponized stillness.

“Open,” his voice was melodic, low, and rousing.

Your forehead crinkled in confusion. Lifting a hand to settle at his wrist, needing the contact to go on, you shook your head ever so slightly because his thumb was already in your mouth. It already _was_ open. 

You felt his fingers tapping on your knee, then, and you burned red from ears to toes. Whining, you tugged against his grip in a bid to keep him from seeing the way your thighs rubbed together at the very idea.

“I will not be repeating myself today, puppet.”

Blanching, you stiffened, building up any courage you could muster. Finally, as though your maidenhead was actually still intact and valuable, you hesitantly parted your knees.

Other than his eyes trailing downward to watch your legs barely obey, Ren didn’t move or speak. When his fingers dug harshly into your cheeks, cutting the weak skin inside against your teeth, you lurched and struggled. This only tightened his hold, and you thought he might break your jaw. Clutching his forearm, you fought to settle back onto the bed and opened your knees wider and then wider still.

He didn’t release his rough grip on your face until your thighs were splayed far enough apart that your pussy opened for him, too, and your face ignited with humiliation. You rubbed at your abused jaw and cheek, wondering how long it would take the finger-sized discolorations to develop.

_Are you hurt, though?_

You surprised even yourself with the repeat question, circling back oddly and still not certain why you should be bothered. He turned his beautiful, dusky eyes to you, and your breath caught. Was he pleased with your concern? Did it satisfy him to think he’d brainwashed you into caring?

He trapped you there, pinned by his mesmerizing eyes, while his fingers slid up your calf, thigh, hip. You were nearly lulled into thinking his light touch would extend to your aching cunt, but he gripped your outer labia into such a tight pinch that you felt punched in the stomach.

You yelped and surged forward, folding in as much as you could, hips from screwing side to side trying to lessen the pressure. He squeezed and tugged upon the tender flesh until it puffed up, swelling under his ministrations.

A satisfied sound bubbled up from his throat, and you slowly brought your focus back to him.

_Kylo..please..._

In a hot second, he switched and snatched up your left labia, digging his fingers in so deep you could feel the nails. You shouted out, the wheeze of it tapering off as your breath heaved. Mirroring his grip, you dug your fingers into his arm but didn't try to push him away.

Screwing your eyes shut, you shuddered and tried to roll through the pain.

The whole middle of your body throbbed in time to your heartbeat, and you groaned when the endorphins finally kicked in to flood you with acceptance, the sound of it indecent even to you. The sting and pulse abated slightly, and your head fell back, lips parting on a relieved sigh. 

“There we go,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey. “Open your eyes.”

You very nearly refused and vaulted from your perch, but it was inevitable. You wanted to obey nearly as much as you wanted to fight, and it was this internal war he wanted to witness every time. Willing your breathing to steady, you relaxed your fingers at his sleeve and opened glassy eyes.

The look of him, the utter craving displayed on his godlike features, was arresting, intoxicating. His eyes shone a shade of twilight you’d never get used to, and his lips trembled, barely keeping his hunger contained. The way he was looking up at you was erotic and evoked a terrible longing.

_Kylo!_

Your face twisted into a pained frown as he switched back and forth between the two bloated lips. He clucked in condescension when warm juice tracked down onto his fingers, and you buried your face in your hands. When he finally stopped crushing you in his vice grip, the gratitude rushed out unchecked.

_THANK you…_

Absent his touch, you pressed a hand at your abdomen and forced yourself to breathe deeply. You were wholly disgusted with your response to such vulgar treatment. Would you blossom under every madness he put upon you? 

Your eyes lit upon his hands and the case he was holding, and you forgot to feel repulsed.

Dread filled your chest, squeezing your lungs back into panic. You had no fucking idea what he was about to do, and you were too terrified to look away. You didn’t think you could curtail his plan, but maybe you could persuade him that you would be good.

_If you’ll just let me, I’ll go do it right now..._

Ignoring you completely, he produced and threaded a slender surgical needle. Your torso hunched of its own volition, trying in vain to put more distance between you and that curved metal. You mewled and whined, begging him to look and not do whatever this was, but he brushed your hands away, reaching out to tug and pinch at your labia again, inching nearer to his goal.

_Fuck, Kylo..I’ll eat dammit! Please stop..._

He looked at you, smug and cruel, and you finally understood that he was swelling your labia on purpose and with clear intent, and it had absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you'd eaten. 

You shook your head wildly, leaning forward and pushing at his arm in a different spot every time he would wave you off. Desperate, pleading tears sprang to your eyes, and you clung to him.

_No no please no not that please no…_

Finished with your begging, Ren anchored you in place with the Force, preventing you from even twitching from the waist down. He hummed at the sight of you, flushed and heaving, thighs spread wide.

You were in the middle of the next pitiful appeal when you felt the needle pierce your most-sensitive skin. 

You were too shocked to move, to shout, to implore him to spare you this torture. The thin suture line dragged through the perforation, and your eyes slammed so tightly shut you thought they might bleed.

It wasn’t until the second stab of his suture needle that you fully understood what was happening. You’d thought he simply meant to pierce the bulging, inflamed lips in order to decorate them; but when he tugged the line taut, pulling the swollen folds together, you sputtered and choked on your own spit. You pawed at his shoulder imploringly, foolishly hoping he would surrender this plan if you appeased him with your touch.

_Kylo..please don’t do this...please don’t do this..._

He crooned and cupped your face, the supple tone of his voice belying the very atrocity he was committing upon you. He straightened up to nudge your jaw with his nose, dragging the tip through your tears. Your fingers curled so tight into his sleeve that you popped stitches in the black fabric, but he offered you no more solace than this. 

He wasn’t indifferent to your suffering; he reveled in it, enjoying seeing it up close.

“You need strings, puppet.”

You whimpered helplessly, thinking you’d likely launch yourself into a dying star if he told you to with that almost-adoring voice.

He released your face, and you dissolved into wretched sobs. There was no escaping his iron will, his demented punishment. Pressing the heels of your shaking hands into your eyes, you openly wept, not bothering to try to be strong for this, for him. Expecting you to endure this easily was too much.

Ren had treated you like property from the moment he saw you. He’d proven to you that you were little more than an object to be toyed with, and his words from that day in the shower resounded in your ears. But in this, he was taking away your humanity entirely. Any pretense that you might have been afforded some pleasure for your endurance bled away.

Stitch by stitch, Ren sewed your labia together, rendering you an androgynous receptacle, suitable for nothing more than receiving pain.

When he was finished, your clit was hidden snug behind a fleshy hem, but your vagina was open, accessible. That was the part he needed, you thought morbidly. 

The Force pressure dissipated, your legs instinctively pressed together, and you curled into yourself. Digging ruddy fingertips into the mattress, you tried to flee, to crawl across the bed and away from him.

_You’re a monster..._

He captured you around the hips and hauled you onto your feet. He didn't care that you were awash in pain; it didn't factor into his plans and was, thus, negligible. He gathered you into his arms, and you wished, for the hundredth time, that he had just let you die.

The sutures were neat and tidy, but every movement tugged at them, reminding you of your place in Kylo Ren’s world. You erupted into a new bout of tears and pushed at his chest, angry and gutted.

“Walk,” he pressed his lips to your temple, murmuring the order into your hair, “or crawl.”

On an offended snort, you jerked your head away from his kiss. Battling yourself into some semblance of calm, you sniffled and nodded. He absolutely would make you crawl down the halls of this ship wearing nothing but those fucking sutures, and you’d rather not be so debased as that.

Suffering for Ren was one thing; suffering for an audience was too much.

He had stepped away to shake out clothes for you to wear when the epinephrine crested and dropped you over a black cliff. Thunder roared in your ears, and your eyes rolled into white. Chased by a wounded gasp, your legs lost all ability to hold you and buckled, but Ren was at your side in an instant, snatching you up before you hit the floor. 

Righting you, he held your weight until your breathing regulated and you pushed back onto your feet. Not wanting to meet his eyes, you nodded against his shoulder, a silent report that you were here with him. He helped you dress in the gauzy black shirt and pants and tipped your face up. 

You had no idea what he was looking for, and you were too tired to fake whatever it was.

Wrapping his great hand around your upper arm, he steered you from the room and down a dark corridor. He wouldn’t go through all the trouble to maim you if he was going to kill you, and you wondered what fresh hell you were being delivered to now. Your steps were slow, hesitant, but he didn’t rush you. 

_Probably enjoying watching you hobbled in a fantastic new way..._

He stopped on a chuckle, turned you to face him, and looked down at you with sardonic amusement. You met his stare, fresh out of any damn to give over whether or not he heard you. You knew you were in no way threatening to this brute, but you leveled him with a searing gaze anyways.

“Supreme Leader Snoke is pleased with my progress.” Ren offered, pulling you flush against his body. “He thinks I have no further need for you…” He reached out to brush his thumb across your glowering mouth. “...but I find that I want more.”

Overwhelmed and nervous at the admission, your mouth dropped open and you stared, dumbfounded. While your mind tumbled over what else you could possibly offer him, he brushed past, leaving you to follow.

More? What else was there? Hadn’t you already given him everything? He’d broken through your safety wall. He’d all but bathed in your blood. He’d sewn your fucking cunt shut so you couldn’t even use it like a human being.

_What the fuck else could you possibly want from me…_

You were so angry that you stupidly followed him into a blindingly white room. You slammed to a stop and blinked, forcing the room into focus. In the center, there was a surgical table, a tray of neatly-arranged instruments, and a man, dressed in gray scrubs and donning a clear splash guard at his face. On the opposite side sat Ren’s black helmet, dented and busted apart.

Hand at your elbow, Ren led you further in and stroked your face with his wide palm, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the table. He nudged the shell of your ear with his nose, and you quivered to feel so near to him, almost like a lover. You clutched at his shirt, molding your body to his and trying to hide from the coming onslaught.

You shook your head, already disbelieving, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.

“I want to hear you scream,” his voice was hushed, as though this was a romantic secret.

All the blood drained from your face, and your mouth went bone dry. You looked from Ren, who was gazing down at you in a way that seared your insides, to the man waiting to enact his orders. He stood there silently, waiting for his Commander’s direction, and you wondered if he’d been threatened into this room, too.

Ren turned you into the very middle of this insanity and hunched down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, crowding you back into the table. Dancing on your toes, you laid petrified and quaking fingertips at his neck, needing to impress upon him how crazy this was.

_Kylo...you can hear me...I’ve already given you everything..please don’t do whatever this is..._

Paying no attention to your pleas, Ren slid his hands into the roomy waistband of your pants and nudged them down your body, kicking the paltry fabric away before you could get them. He lifted you onto the table and situated you at its very end, legs dangling in an eerily familiar way.

He stepped into the space between your legs, scooting your hips out to meet his. You felt blistered every time you came into contact with his body, fingers, nose. He tipped your head back to lick at the scars crossing your larynx and rocked his body against yours. He was thick against you, his body hardening at the pitiable display you were putting on, and you whimpered in shameless response.

“Be good, puppet,” he hummed against your ear, enjoying the way your body reacted to his vicious dominance.

He stepped back, tugging out the table's stirrups, and you didn’t know who to be more afraid of. The doctor positioned his tray nearer to your head, stepping in so close you could smell the antiseptic soap.

You pushed at Ren’s hands when he guided your heels into the braces.

_Kylo..please...You can’t… I can’t…_

It was fluid now, automatic. Your mouth opened when his fingers drew near, and he yanked you forward by that wicked hook. He slid his thumb slowly against your tongue and looked directly up into your eyes. Your knees knocked together, and you cried out in pain, having forgotten in your terror that your pussy was sewn up tight.

“You will.”

He did something to you when he said those things, and you stopped squirming. You would never win this war. You would only tire yourself out with the fighting. Beyond that, some delirious part of you wanted to prove him right, to show him that yes, you _could_ do this.

Clenching your hands into tight fists, you closed your eyes to quell anxious tears. He finished arranging your legs into the stirrups and scooted your ass down to the end of the table. 

Shame flooded you, barely contained by the bruised membrane that was your skin, because anyone who walked into the room would be treated to a view of your mistreated cunt.

Over you, the two men discussed what was about to happen as though you weren’t even there, and you felt more infinitesimal than ever before. The doctor agreed that this was, indeed, a minorly invasive surgery, but it was what came next that launched you forward, panic-induced frenzy telling you to get the fuck out now regardless of whether you died in the process.

“There’s no need for a sedative. She will be fine. Topical if you need it, but nothing stronger.”

You were a rabid animal up against an unstoppable force, but you howled and thrashed anyways. You clawed at his arms and tried to kick him in the stomach and groin. You screamed and sobbed because even Santcha, who had done nothing but beat, stab, and take from you, had never been so cruel.

Each day you were here, Kylo Ren was disassembling you and rearranging your parts. He was building himself a better puppet, piece by bloody fucking piece.

_You cannot do this! You cannot do this...Kylo..you fucking cannot..._

The doctor hunched over, holding his groin and floundering. Ren smirked, punching you into place with his trunk of an arm at your stomach. Looking down at you, he stroked the inside of your knee with lazy circles, no doubt in a patronizing attempt to settle your fraying nerves. 

“Calm down, puppet. You’re hurting the good doctor here.”

In your hysteria, you were pushing your feelings, your pain, out into the world around you. If you still hadn’t believed Ren about your Force-sensitivity, you’d just manifested all the proof he would ever need.

Exhausted from your outburst and ashamed for assaulting someone who hadn’t harmed you, you swallowed down air and fixed your stare upon the ceiling. You counted heartbeats until the muscle didn’t feel like it was about to explode from your chest.

Angrily, you pushed Ren’s hand away. You needn’t be pitied by the very man who was causing all of this.

With a chuckle, he pulled a rolling stool over to sit like it was just another fucking day of endless meetings. Lifting your head up to glare at him, your chest seized, breath hitching, because you could see his shoulders, neck, and face between your spread thighs. 

_Kylo please..._

Maybe it's what he thought you were begging for because the Force slid over you like a weighted blanket, pinning you to the table, and you were never so grateful for being relieved of your autonomy.

The doctor turned your head into place and secured a metal brace on your throat, prohibiting any movement. He applied a foul-smelling ointment to your skin, and you shattered, horrified to your very marrow.

You no longer had eyes, only faucets spewing forth an endless stream of angry, mournful tears. You tried closing them to staunch the flow because the doctor said you were moving too much, but you couldn't stop your body now. You weren't in control of it anymore. 

The stress response to this terror was unforgiving, and you thought it might never end. He was going to have to cut you open from ear to ear because stopping the chatter of your teeth and the rattling of your shoulders and chest was simply not within your power.

Your fingers uncurled, reaching for Ren even though you knew he would never offer you this comfort.

Instead, warmth pooled around your breasts, licking up your sternum, and you drew in a tremulous breath. The Force that held you in place lavished attention upon your torso, cupping, massaging, and squeezing your breasts together. Warm and wet nipped at the hard peaks, and your calves flexed in response. 

“Quiet now.”

Ren's voice was even, demanding. He had indulged your fear long enough, and it was now time to obey. You concentrated on the invisible hand tugging your breasts into an aching throb and reminded yourself to wiggle your toes and fingers. Your lips quivered on every exhale, but you were trying so hard to keep yourself together. 

You knew how to process pain, but this affliction could hardly be classified as pain.

As the doctor set to his task, you felt pressure at your neck but not the sting of the scalpel. Ren seemed to want that sensation only for himself, and you conjured the image of him painted with your blood, preferring the memory of beautiful torture to this reality of sanitized mistreatment.

The doctor, asking Ren something you didn't catch, stuck his fucking fingers into your throat, and your panic kicked back up. You jerked against the stirrups, and your lips curled into a snarl, readying to shout curses at this man, consequences be damned.

Shushing you, Ren dipped his face between your thighs, and you nearly vaulted off the table when you felt his lips connect with the supple, bruised skin. His kiss was soft, his lips smooth, and you bristled with ire that he would deny you the sight of him between your legs. 

Alongside the doctor, you cursed him and tightened your hands into angry fists.

He chuckled against you, clearly entertained by your fit. The sensation at your breasts increased, the rippling heat licking, sucking, and biting at your nipples. The throb bubbled over and spread down your sides, slithering across your stomach. It was rousing and teasing and distracting, exactly as it was meant to be.

Ren’s mouth traveled from one thigh to the other, and your whole face pinched with the effort to be as silent as possible. It was clear that any noise you made, any vibration in your throat, would do more damage and prolong this bastardized treatment.

He didn’t want you to damage his property with your foolishness, you realized.

He murmured an agreement to the thought and kissed up the insides of both legs, sucked on his bruises, and nipped at the highest point of your thighs. Your insides pooled, and he dipped his thumb into the wetness building for him, tugging ever so gently upon the weeping slit.

The doctor reached across your body to the tray that held the destroyed helmet, but you were too wrapped up in Ren’s wicked scheme to notice him plundering the debris for a specific part. The tension in your legs and hips had lessened under his mouth, and your vulnerable thighs had dropped further apart.

Abruptly, the pressure of the Force increased upon your entire body, and you were unnerved all over again because what was coming next surely was worse than what you’d already endured if he needed to hold you down more.

You sniffled through your fear but poured every ounce of brute determination into remaining calm, to keep yourself still and under some measure of composure. You weren’t sure if he was speaking aloud or in your head, but you heard Ren praising you for how well you were doing, how beautiful and strong you were to endure this for him.

As though you had any choice in the matter.

When his lips connected with your cunt, you thought you would certainly swallow whatever the doctor was lodging into your neck. You could feel the pressure more insistently now as he crammed or screwed or stitched whatever the fuck it was he was doing. 

Ren kissed and sucked upon your stretched labia; the sounds lewd and consuming. He plucked each stitch with his tongue, and you thought you were going to lose your mind. You could feel every tight tug followed by the warm flat of his tongue gliding up the length of the vicious seam.

You marveled at how easily this man could conjure new tortures, how simple it was for him to corrupt something so mundane and turn it into exquisite torment.

_Master of the Knights of Ren, indeed..._

You cursed him again for taking away any hint of pleasure you might eke out from this whole experience. It was barbarous and merciless to lay his mouth upon you like this and prevent you from actually feeling it, enjoying it. It was the pinnacle of painful foreplay, and you hated him for it. 

You hated the doctor for being a party to this whole fucking thing. You hated everyone on this ship for bowing to the tantrums of a Child God, and you promised yourself you’d murder Supreme Fucking Leader Snoke himself for creating such a beast.

Ren bit into your thigh harshly at that last thought, directly into the center of the deep bruise, and your toes curled tight. That mark certainly went down to the bone and would likely scar, little indentations from his teeth puckering more each time he revictimized the area. 

_Kylo..._

Sweat broke across your brow, and a feverish tremble began as your body tried to deal with the absurd number of sensations warring inside.

The doctor pushed his tray away and told you both that he would need to test the calibration before he could close the window. You blinked up at his masked face in confusion. Test the calibration of what? How were you meant to do that, exactly?

Ren stood and you jerked at the brush of his body. You could feel him rustling, but it was driving you mad that you couldn’t see what he was doing. He hooked his thumbs into the very tops of your thighs and tugged the opening of your vagina just slightly wider. The stitches strained, and you whimpered, unable to contain it any longer.

Your eyes flew wide open because the sound was strange, louder, reverberating.

The swollen head of Ren’s cock nudged at your entrance, and you knew your heart was going to explode from your chest. He’d been working you, tinkering with those fucking puppet strings, to flood your pussy and make it ready for him; and like a damn fool, you’d given him exactly what you wanted.

You burned with humiliation and ragged desire as he pushed in, breaking the seal and stretching your cunt into something pliable for his sizable dick. It was endless, the sting and scorch of each inch, and you wanted to beg that he please just let you reach for him. It was all becoming too much, and you were disjointed, disconnected from everything.

Ren pushed and leaned into you until he was fully seated, pulsing at the very center of your body. You could feel every throb, every carnal twitch. Ren was fucking you from both ends, his dick stuffed far into your pussy and his depraved will stuffed down deep into your neck. The very idea of it sent you into a spiral.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he groaned, voice gravelly. “Relax, puppet. Open for me.”

_Kylo, not like this..._

You were truly his object, denied any relief from his harassment or any pleasure at his hand. Digging his fingers into your hips, he began a slow, thorough stroke, pulling nearly all the way out only to plunge back down to the hilt.

“Out loud, girl.”

Your head ticked, a screaming internal alarm preventing you from shaking it outright, because you couldn’t do it; you could not obey this order. You couldn’t even remember the sound of your own voice, and you didn’t want to mourn something you couldn’t recall. You also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

_Fuck you..._

Ren’s hips thrust harder into you, though, and you yelped. The high-pitched fabricated sound shocked you, and you trailed it with a hiccup, breath catching on the implications of this new reality.

“Lower,” Ren nodded to the doctor, who adjusted the implant in your throat.

You seethed. He was tailoring the sound of your voice to his fucking preference, and you thought you surely would rip the damned thing out of your neck if you had your hands free. 

Dissatisfied with your reaction to his steady pace, Ren rutted into you stubbornly, fucking you with more force. Your ire fizzled, the anger dribbling out of your cunt on a steady trickle of hot slick. He stretched you, and you moaned at the fullness of it. You desperately wanted to arch and rock your hips against him, but you were completely paralyzed, not even given room to wiggle.

“Kylo. Fuck. Please.”

He all but purred at the modulated sound of your voice, the one he’d given you, and rewarded you with a long series of strokes so deep you saw stars.

“Lower,” he ordered, and the doctor moved to his bidding.

“Now, puppet, what’s that mantra of yours?”

Ren’s cunning was staggering. He was demanding the only thing that had allowed you to survive him. Your throat burned, tingling around the foreign implant, and you swallowed, trying to moisten the metal. Sniffling, you cleared your throat, focusing on the task you’d been given and not the ruthless invasion of your pussy.

Taking as deep of a breath as you could, you concentrated on making the sound as even as possible.

“In...suffering...there...is...beauty.”

“That’s right,” he praised you and then nodded to the surgeon. “That’s it.”

Having gotten what he wanted, Ren bent over you and nipped at your stomach before tucking himself back into his pants. In moments, the doctor had your throat stitched up, a Bacta patch applied, and was giving instructions to Ren about no solid food for 24 hours, watch for infection, and apply Bacta as needed. 

He also advised that you should be silent for the next 24 hours due to inflammation but that he understood if something happened to prevent that.

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling when he said it because of fucking course something was going to prevent that. Curling your hands into fists again, you renewed your vow to slaughter every soul on this ship.

With the doctor gone, the Force hold you’d been kept under released, and you shot upwards to confront Ren. This wasn’t fear or flight; this was anger and malice. 

You slammed both fists into his chest and shoved. Pressing your lips into a hard line, you jammed your knee in between your body and his, intent upon sprinting past him and away from here, from him.

Jerking your legs back apart, he stepped in and wrapped his massive hand around your throat, burning you with his gaze and squeezing you back into muted compliance. Satisfied you would be still, he wrapped you tight into his chest, fingers still stroking your throat. 

Shock and absolute fury coiled into the pit of your stomach, and you just sat, boiling in your hatred that he could so easily disfigure you and, then, so easily divest you of your rage.

The severity of what he’d done registered, and panicked spikes drove into your heart. You quaked anew, tears spilling, and you dug your fingers into the shirt at the small of his back.

_What did you do…_

“Out loud,” he pressed, voice endearing as he brushed your tears away.

Licking your lips, you stared at him for a long moment, eyes glossy. Ren waited patiently as you gathered the fortitude to obey. Even he seemed to understand this was a lot to take in.

“What did you do?” You whispered it, the haunted voice faltering, betraying the depth of your despair.

He hummed hungry delight against your jaw. Using the leverage he always seemed to have at your neck, Ren turned your head for you to take in the broken bits of his helmet on the tray. In the vortex of fear and lust and terror, you’d completely forgotten it had been there at all.

“This voice,” he breathed the words out, stroking the bandage, “is mine.”

You gaped at him, eyes swiveling from the tray to his face and back. It broke over you like lightning. He had taken the modulator from his helmet and had it implanted in your throat.

Ren dropped his head into your neck again and sucked a mark into the skin. You were too frozen to respond, your back rigid but your arms and legs hanging limp and useless.

“This body,” he said into your neck, “is mine.”

Slithering his hands between your bodies, he pushed your thighs apart wide and ran his fingers up the plump seam. You shuddered, feeling the pulse of your sequestered clit battering against the wall that should not be there.

“This pussy,” he bit at your jaw, “is mine.”

He had succeeded in reducing you to a nameless doll, a puppet tailored exactly to his liking for his entertainment and use. You were dazed, thunderstruck, and empty. He had put you through absolute hell today, and you weren’t capable of filtering your thoughts, now words, anymore.

You were past the point where you could even care if he punished you for insolence.

“Why did you stay with me?”

The question startled you more than the alien sound of your new voice. You managed to look at him and concentrated on his alluring freckles. You searched his starry eyes for something to latch onto, something that would tie you here.

You had no childish thoughts of love or support. But right now, having borne the brunt of so much of his persecution, you needed _something_. 

One question, though, led to more, and they began to spill from your lips on this new capability.

“Why didn’t you kill me? I was ready, and I would have gladly given you that. Why did you need to do this to me? You were already in my head, listening.”

Your ire and emotion were rising, the mechanical undertone in your voice lifting in pitch. You blinked, really truly trying to understand the whims of a mad man. 

“What difference is there between me screaming in my head and screaming out loud? Why couldn’t you just leave me the way I was? I was surviving your punishment just fine without this unnatural, bastard tongue!”

You fisted both hands into his shirt and pounded against the chest beneath. Your lips wobbled, and you tipped your head back, furious at the tears that wouldn’t fucking stop.

You had learned to survive without a voice. The silence you offered the universe became your salvation, your solace. People expected nothing of you when they knew you couldn't speak, and you’d used it to strengthen yourself, to fortify your will to endure and withstand all manner of ego and abuse.

Frantic, you settled on the most important question, the one that you **needed** answered.

“Why did you do this to me?”

Ren captured your face in both hands and smothered your tirade with a kiss. His beautiful pink lips slanted over yours, and you melted against his mouth. He sucked at your lower lip, licked the roof of your mouth, and slid his tongue against yours until you were breathless and squirming.

He curled your limbs around his shoulders and waist and carried you around the side of the table. Setting you down, he plucked the scalpel from the tray, his hands disappearing between your legs. You whimpered and scooted backwards, but he hooked a hand beneath your knee and pulled you back into place.

“I did this,” he cut one of the sutures, “to focus your attention away from the procedure."

“Is that not…” he nipped at your pulse, “...merciful?”

He made quick work of the remaining sutures, slicing through them and pulling the remnants away. You whined, head lolling, as your freed labia parted, blood beginning to redistribute to the abused skin and shooting pins and needles into your cunt. He followed the sharp stings with his thumb, rubbing between the swollen folds until you gasped and tipped your pelvis into his touch.

Tugging you against his body, Ren ground his erection between your tender lips. You moaned low, the sound warbled, wanton, and needy, and he captured it with a deep kiss, swallowing on a growl.

He tore at his own clothes, freed his swollen cock, and pushed inside of you, not bothering to be gentle. Your eyebrows drew together tight at the invasion, the time between the first fucking and this one having been enough for your body to re-acclimate to his absence. 

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you lifted your hips to his assault because the utter completion you felt was too good to resist.

“And I did..fuck…,” he faltered, bottoming out into your tight heat; “...I did this,” he dipped his face down and licked the bandage, the only truly new scar he’d ever given you; “...so that you would remember,” his breath was broken now, his voice ragged with lust; “...that every sound you make belongs to me.”

You held tightly to his back, hugging his sides with your legs, and trying your damnedest to stay here in this moment. The second adrenaline crash of the day threatened to consume you, but you fought against it because the man who’d teased you for a week had his dick so far inside you that you thought you could taste it. 

You were desperate for this bliss, whining in raw need, and you shuddered when he rocked your body against his in the manner and tempo he liked, large fingers splayed across your ass and moving you to his pleasure. Your tortured cunt clenched and all but sucked his dick in deep. 

You cried out, feeling the lines between you as a person and you as Ren’s personal fucktoy bleed together. Your whole body contracted, squeezing him hard and coming absolutely alive under his thumb. You clung to his back like he was your own personal savior.

Stretching long fingers around your neck, Ren lifted your face and forced you to look, always wanting to watch you agonize for him. The now-familiar warm sensation blossomed at your clit, and your eyes fluttered shut on a loud moan. He shook you until your eyes opened again, demanding your stare.

“You’re no victim," he sneered.

He punched himself so far into your cunt that you felt the nudge at your cervix and erupted into an echoing shriek. The Force engulfed your clit, every single one of the thousands of nerves swarmed by the hot vibration and spreading a delicious jolt up through your abdomen.

“You’re a depraved, filthy thing,” he dug his nails into your jaw, “and your body was made for me.”

You couldn’t look away, couldn’t shake your head or disagree. Accepting that hard truth on your behalf, your pussy flooded him with a new surge of molten slip, and he growled possessively. He licked at your mouth and squeezed your neck tighter. The pressure arched you into his chest and set your cunt to clutching feverishly.

“See? Not happy unless you’re being hurt.”

Pressing into the veins below your jaw, he stunted the flow of blood to your brain, sending you into floating oblivion. You convulsed against him, the jerk of your body trying to fight off unconsciousness drawing a hungry moan from your captor. The suction at your clit intensified, and you begged, lips working on impotent words, breath choppy, and fingers clamoring and raking against his biceps.

You were nothing but a vibrating mess, well-fucked and wholly obliterated by his embrace as he choked and ravaged your body. The stab of his dick was relentless, and you were very nearly gone, your eyes glazing over, eyelids heavy. 

“Cum for me, puppet. Show me how much you like it."

He dipped his mouth to your ear, voice commanding, dripping with derision and desire. Shifting his fingers, he allowed blood to rush back into your dizzy head, and you gasped hard. Married with the hot pressure at your clit and the pistoning of his cock, you seized in deference to his order.

Your entire body shrunk into a tight ball against him, knees drawing up high, ankles hugging at his back. Your fingers and toes curled, your legs and arms shook, and your abdomen and ass clenched hard and tight. 

The orgasm blew through you like a comet, and everything loosened on a series of soul-shattering quakes.

You shouted and wailed, the altered, digital howl sounding almost like it truly belonged to you. Your cunt spasmed, alternating between trying to push Ren’s invading cock out and trying to draw it further and further in.

You were drowning in euphoria, endorphins, and emotions, and you had no protection, no wall with which to keep everything at bay. Every single thing Ren had done, was doing, roiled through you and radiated off of your body dangerously, and he was caught in the blast zone.

“Fuck..fuck..FUCK!”

His hands dug caverns into the meat of your ass, fingernails leaving crescent trenches. He bit into the side of your neck, buried himself as far into you as he could, and emptied his cock into the flood you were offering him.

Three more thrusts pushed his seed in deep, and he moaned, low and liquid, into your skin while bucking through his orgasm. You were barely clinging to consciousness, weak and overwhelmed by the events of the afternoon, the day, the week.

For the third time today, Ren held you, stroking your back until your mind came back to your body. When you lifted your head, he leaned back, taking in your mottled cheeks, swollen mouth, and glassy eyes. 

“Open.”

He lifted his hand to your mouth and purred when it opened for him naturally. He hooked his thumb into your teeth, just the way you liked, and you shifted against him, leaking all manner of bodily fluids onto the table.

You hadn't hesitated at all, too sated to bristle that it was beneath you or too eager for whatever demeaning paradise he was willing to offer. 

He held your jaw right there, thumb playing with the inside of your teeth. He was looking at you as though he was ready to bathe in your blood again, and you weren’t sure that you wouldn’t let him. His eyes were dark and nefarious and hypnotic.

What he did next was so unexpectedly obscene that you choked. He tilted your head back and spat into your mouth, watching his saliva pool on your tongue.

Your body’s reaction was immediate, suffused with want and something you might later identify as pride. Your fingers tightened into his shirt, and your chest arched up into him. You let loose a low sound that even you didn’t even recognize, and your hips rocked beseechingly against him.

“You belong to me,” he said, watching the bubbles slide down your throat. “This is the last time I'll explain myself to you."

He allowed you to close your mouth, and you stared at him, awed and searching. Before you could second guess yourself, you curled his trembling fingers around your throat, swallowing beneath the grip.

If this was the closest you would ever get to an intimate gesture, you needed it now more than you needed oxygen.

Satisfied for the moment, Ren squeezed your neck and rubbed his nose against yours. 

Too soon, the moment ended, and Ren grasped your hips and lifted you off of his dick with a low groan. You watched openly as he tucked himself away and righted his clothing. You flushed, pleased at the idea that he was going to spend the rest of today with your cunt lingering on his dick.

You blinked at the thought, troubled at the ease with which you joined him in such vulgarity.

Your reverie was interrupted by a slender man in all black walking into the room uninvited and unannounced. Ren’s head shot up on a snarl, and he reached out to wind that unfortunate soul into the Force and lift him off of his feet. 

You tiredly glanced over at Ren’s newest victim, surprised by his bright red hair. Knowing better than to interfere, you simply looked from Ren to this intruder, wondering how long it would be before one of them spoke.

“The...Supreme...Leader...demands...your………………...presence!”

Ren released his hold, and the uniformed man hit the ground with a crash, scrambling back out into the hallway. Bending down, he scooped up your black pants and handed them to you. 

Ren's gaze hardened considerably, and you were amazed at how dark became void in his eyes. Reaching back to the tray, he grabbed the scalpel, broke off the blade, and lifted it to your mouth.

“If he tries to hurt you or move you,” his voice was dangerously low, and your eyes flitted around his arm to the door, “get away. Find the Knights of Ren.”

The questions played across your face, and your brow knit. Were you in danger? Why were you in danger? You leaned forward, meaning to ask, but he shook his head, instructing you back to silence. You sat up straighter, concerned and more alert.

“That voice is for me, only.”

Understanding, you parted your lips and accepted the weapon, moving it with your tongue and tucking it into the roof of your mouth. Ren's battle face changed for just a second, his beautiful lips turning up into a smirk, knowing full well this wasn’t the first time you’d had to hide a blade.

You accepted that he would push you until you broke for him, over and over, but it satisfied you to no end that he wasn’t prepared to allow anyone else to harm you. That pleasure was afforded to him alone in the Galaxy. 

“Hux!” He barked it out, and the man, who was still rubbing his tender throat, turned into the room to look.

“You will personally deliver her back to my chambers.”

Ren didn’t waste time asking if the man understood his instructions. He would be obeyed, or someone would die. In seconds, he had collected the remnants of his helmet and was gone from the room. 

You sagged, feeling like the universe was somehow less bright without the scorch of his presence. Stuffing your aching, wobbly legs into the black linen, you cautiously descended from the surgical table and righted the material over your hips. 

Turning, you faced your new escort, whose name was apparently Hux, and gestured for him to lead on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is hanging in with me. This is a lot, but I've tried to infuse my life/kink experiences into this fic, and I really hope you are enjoying it as I am. Comments and questions are always welcome.


	8. Reputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All manner of trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a doozy, huh? ;) If you're still here after that, thanks for hanging in. This chapter is more tame, but I love it as much as I love the hard stuff.
> 
> But I will remind everyone that this is an adult fic. Please check the warning tags because some of this content can be triggering.

Day Eight

You were back in Ren’s room for all of five minutes when the cycle shifted from day to night. You’d lost an entire day to his diabolical plans, and you were exhausted to the bone. Hux had chided you about your nearly-crawling pace, and you’d contemplated stabbing him right there in the hall; but finally, you slumped across the threshold into what your heart kicked up as “home.”

Tension and disgust kept you from crawling into the bed. You knew your brain would loop this day, searing the way he’d looked at you into the gray matter until you wore a constant mask of mottled need. You sunk down in the very center of the room, huddled in on yourself, and stared at the imbrued floor. You were beyond pain and tears, mired in this quagmire of hate and hunger.

He had humiliated you, wholly stripped you of all humanity and personhood. And you had all but begged him for more. 

Under his sheer dehumanization, your body had been charged, technicolor and dynamic. Ren had systematically consumed every part of you, continuously conjuring up new ways to crucify you to feed his black need. And at every turn, you had given him the anguish he craved; you had yet to deny him exactly what he wanted.

Would you ever be able to deny him?

Pressing the heels of your hands into weary eye sockets, you leaned forward over crossed legs, bent in half from the burden of your inner war. You weren’t sure you could live with the creature he was unearthing, but you weren’t sure you could live without the feelings he evoked, without  _ him _ .

Moments later, Ren stepped through the door, flushed red and heaving. His eyes were furious and frantic, and you scrambled away, putting distance between you and the raving lunatic he looked to be. 

“Supreme Leader,” Hux’s voice crackled through the commlink. “The rebels have launched an attack, Sir. The  _ Supremacy _ has been compromised. We have lost the starboard side entirely.”

Ren’s gaze settled upon you and darkened immeasurably. Teeth gnashing and erupting with a snarl, he crossed the room in three strides and hauled you into his arms. The warmth that had been building in your heart evaporated, escaping through your lungs on stuttered breath. 

You cried out and turned your gaze to the floor, the heat of his breath scorching your red cheek. You knew there was no placating him like this. This was the Kylo Ren who would beat you for insolence, batter your body for daring to patronize him with any hint of gentle persuasion.

“Get command to the  _ Steadfast _ ,” he replied through his commlink. “I will be at the  _ Night Buzzard _ and will rendez-vous with you there.”

Angry digits dug into your upper arms so fiercely you could feel your pulse hammering in your fingertips. He had you lifted so high your toes barely scraped the dirty floor, and you clung to his shoulders, trying not to hang like a limp doll.

You could feel it, the accusation rolling off of him like steam, causing the very air around you to fluctuate and waver. When had you come to know the different shades of his rage? You shook your head wildly because whatever he was about to say, you certainly hadn’t been able to do it.

“Yes, you fucking did.”

He was nose-to-nose, and his absolute disdain for you was crushing. After everything you’d suffered at his hands, everything you’d endured for him, he still hated you, still regarded you as an object to be used and crushed, and it sucked the light from your soul.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

He passed his quaking hand over your face, stretched his great power into your cerebellum, and forced you into the inky void.

You dreamed of vast, blue skies and the sunlight on your face. It was bright and crisp and vibrant. You turned into the wind and inhaled the deep, clean, briskness of it, feeling the wispy tendrils curl around your neck and shoulders. You stretched up into the warmth, feeling the ache in your bones and joints ease, the tightness in your neck and back loosen, and the constriction of your ribs and lungs lessen under the blissful perfection of nature.

You lifted your face into a smattering of afternoon clouds, feeling free and weightless. No more walls. No more silent vacuum of space. No more blinding, false light. This was life without Santcha, without your Master, without Ren. It was open and lustrous and beautiful.

And it wasn’t real.

As your senses came back into alignment, you smelled rust-tinged air mixing with the heavy remnants of oil and grease. Instead of balmy sunlight, you felt only cold, recycled, stagnant output regulating the temperature. Curling fingers into the rough sheets where you’d dreamed freedom had been, you buried your face into the pillow and wept.

You weren’t free. The universe had simply wrenched you from one sphere of suffering and delivered you to another. The only difference was that Ren made you respond in ways you never thought possible. He was unique in his ability to make you want to suffer. But you were still his captive, his property, and he would never let you go.

“Quiet now,” the dulcet tone of his voice drew you further awake. “Sit up.”

You didn’t want to open your eyes upon this palpable, metal hell, but you complied, shifting so that you were facing him as he crouched at the foot of the dismal bed. You recognized the pattern playing out and didn’t object when he pushed a warm cup into your hands. 

He’d brutalized you yesterday; today, he would put you back together, mend the madness he'd rained upon you. 

“Your weapon,” he urged, turning his palm up to your lips.

Silent, you reached down to your thigh and the last swatch of surgical tape on your body. Peeling the corner away, you uncovered the little scalpel blade hidden snug against the puckered skin. You weren’t stupid enough to sleep with it in your mouth, but you hadn’t had any time to actually sleep before he burst in.

Ren huffed on an entertained smirk and tossed the blade away, reaching down to peel off that last strip of tape. Over the last 2 days, you’d been discarding remnants as they frayed, but he’d been too busy dismantling you to notice. 

Your mostly-healed scars still looked fresh and bright, and he slid his fingers over the largest tracks, eyes lingering on the raised edges.

Ignoring the way he studied you and the gooseflesh his grazes produced, you sniffed the warm liquid questioningly. You knew better than to object and swallowed down the soup, your upper lip curling at the stale, bland taste. When you finished one, he pushed a second into your hands, followed by a large cup of water. You hadn’t had solid food in two days, and he seemed to recall the doctor’s order that you not have it for at least 24 hours.

He didn’t speak, and the distorted closeness felt awkward, wrong. He was doting on you like a partner, but you recalled the utter hatred he leveled at you earlier and the deep well of longing in your heart for the sunlight in your dreams. Brow furrowed, you pushed his hands away and leaned out of his reach, preferring to brood alone.

Having never cared for what you wanted, Ren ignored the pained look on your face, discarded his light trousers, and sunk into the small mattress. You were immediately crowded by his commanding frame and, unnerved, moved to escape his purview.

Too near his imposing incandescence, you would certainly burst aflame and beg for his touch.

You weren’t quick enough, however; and he slid a rigid arm around your middle, tugged you up into his lap, and mouthed at your jaw. Fortified and fed, you tensed and worked to twist out of his control.

If he wanted to hate you, you wouldn’t argue, but you wouldn’t pretend to be his docile, doting slave.

“Time to be useful, puppet.”

His hold tightened at your curse and subsequent squirming, and you scratched at his arm, trying to contort your body into some strange shape that would jar his grip loose so you could crawl away. You’d never felt so worthless in his captivity as being reduced to “useful.”

Ren pulled you back into the hard pillar of his chest, biting into your shoulder until you yelped and stopped fighting. He was solid and strong, uncompromising and exacting, and you wondered when his unhinged demands started to feel safe. He brushed his nose into your hair, lips right at the shell of your ear, and he melted your resolve with that sensual inflection.

“You can sit; or, you can swallow, but I’m going to be inside you.”

His vulgar words set your core to clenching, and the idea of him burying himself into your body again socked you in the gut. You yearned for that version of him, vibrant with the pleasure he found in you, and the satisfaction you’d seen in his features for just a moment. You ached for that feeling when you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, when pain and pleasure bled together.

You told yourself that you didn’t want to be that person, that whore, for him. You wanted your autonomy, to make your own decisions and to live a free life away from ruthless men. 

He held you, stroking your stomach and dipping his finger into your belly button, while he waited, listening as your struggle unfolded.

You sagged against him, eyes closing in resignation. Your body and your brain wanted very different things.

Forcing your jaw to relax, you shifted onto your knees and turned to face the demanding deity who now invaded your every waking moment. You let your eyes roam his perfect arms, abs, hips, thighs, cock, trying to decide which part of yourself to sacrifice. 

If you gave him your face, maybe he’d blow out the bastard vocoder, and you’d drift back into blessed silence. But if you gave him your pussy, he would definitely demolish any resistance lingering in your brain.

He reached for you, intent upon ending the debate, but you brushed his hand away and moved to kneel between his legs. You forced yourself to meet his dark, eager eyes, blatantly ignoring his standing, straining, far-too-pretty cock.

Raising an eyebrow, you nudged his knees apart wider by spreading your own and relished the quick intake of his breath. You told yourself it was because you needed the balance, he needed to know how it fucking felt, and you needed him to not kick you or asphyxiate you with his thighs.

A satisfied rumble descended from on high as you bent forward, pressing your nose and lips into his bruised thigh, and you knew that the curve of your ass was the highest point of your body in this position. 

You inhaled the musky aroma of his skin and hummed against the fuzzy patch of hair. Your eyes danced behind closed lids as you remembered the soft, colored flesh in your mouth and the way he’d looked down at you, ravenous himself and pleased with your hunger. Your hips loosened and your pussy warmed, readying to accept him.

Something started to tingle inside your belly, and you angrily shook it away. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. 

You were waiting for him to thread demanding fingers into your hair, to lift your face and force you down onto his weeping dick, to take away your complicity in this act. If he took it from you, as he had been doing for days, you could pretend that you didn’t want this.

But none of those things happened. He was silent and still, and you glanced up at him, irritated and troubled and uncertain.

“You’ve caused all manner of trouble, puppet." 

His voice was smooth, and he tapped your lower lip on every single word. 

“Show me you’re sorry.”

You snorted, anger suffusing your nose, ears, cheeks. Shot up onto your knees, you completely abandoned what he’d instructed you to do because you had done no such fucking thing. You’d spent mere moments in his room on the  _ Supremacy _ ; and, then, you’d been in this hole, right here, unconscious for what was likely hours. 

“When, exactly, did I have time to cause trouble?”

You practically shouted it, and the smug grin that played at the corners of his mouth only enraged you further. He didn’t move to quash your tirade, though, and you jabbed a finger at him, losing your composure entirely at his amusement. 

You knew his condescension stemmed from the sound of your voice, modulated, just the right pitch, and fully on display.

“I’ve been here, blacked out by your own fucking hand. Before that, I was pinned down to a surgical table while you had your blasted doctor force things into my body.” 

You jumped off the bed entirely, standing alongside his crooked, relaxed knee and positively fuming at the calm, arrogant look on his beautiful, infuriating face.

“And before that, I was unconscious because you slit me open from chin to toes. So,  _ Commander _ ,” you spit the word out as though it was poison, “when have I made all of this trouble? Or would you like me to go back farther than the last three fucking days?”

Ren sat up slowly, and the absolute animosity in his eyes pushed you a step back, your ire faltering. He slid from the bed, unfurling like a great, storied behemoth, and stalked forward at you. You held out a hand, but you didn’t know if it was to stop him or to touch him.

Unclothed, he looked even more deadly as there was no fabric, no weapon to draw away your stare, and every rippling, taut muscle was an exhibit in transcendence. 

He was what men aspired to be, godlike and mesmerizing.

If he killed you now, it would be the pinnacle of intimacy with nothing between his raw aggression and your abject fear. He would press his naked form against you and surely end your life by sucking the very marrow from your bones.

He was every inch the infernal predator, and you were the prey that just pissed him off. 

“Yesterday,” he sneered, “You threatened to murder Supreme Leader Snoke.”

Your mouth dried out completely, snapping shut with a clatter because you couldn’t argue. In your rage and fright, you had absolutely threatened to murder Snoke and everyone on board the ship, and it was clear from Ren’s response that Snoke had heard you. 

Terror flooded your veins, pushed out all the blood that was supposed to be there and replaced it with adrenaline. Your mind screamed at you to run, now, get away, but your body could only slink further back into the room, sweating and twitching.

“Before that,” he reached out, wrapped his giant hand around your throat, and drew you in close, tightening his ritual noose until you gulped and wheezed, “You wounded me in battle.”

You could feel the delicate bones bowing to his snapping grip, and you clawed at his arm. Surely, Ren’s patience had run out. You had done all of those things and more. 

Just today, you had denied him the feel of your mouth, your body, and you shouted at him, challenged him, in front of the Knights of Ren, his troupe. Animosity had so clouded your judgment that you’d shucked off every bit of common sense and self-preservation.

You could not possibly be more stupid.

“Shall I go back farther than the last three fucking days, puppet?”

You paled, remembering that he’d caught you trying to escape the day before that, and shook your head in defeat. His fingernails cut into the tender flesh of your neck, and you whimpered, standing onto your toes in a vain attempt to lessen his grip. Your lips drew into a tight line, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to whatever punishment he would inflict.

Maybe you did deserve it.

Ren shoved you away, and you collapsed into a pitiable heap on the dirty floor. Tears sprang to your eyes because the internal conflict was never going to end. You were flooded with shame that he was disappointed in you and fuming that you fucking cared to begin with. This contention inside your own body was becoming unbearable, and you were so incredibly tired. 

It was all too much.

Snoke surely wanted your head, and Ren would have no choice but to deliver you to the slaughter. Just days ago, you had been ready to die, but that had been for Ren, not Snoke. Your lips would hardly work, the emotion bubbling over and shunting your idiotic bravery.

_ Kylo, I can’t do this anymore…. _

He looked down at you, eyes dark and haunted; and even though you knew he was incapable of feeling or compassion, you lifted pleading eyes to his. There truly was no going back, and the way forward had just been shut to you. Snoke would hunt you. He would send the Knights of Ren, and their Master, to hunt you.

You only needed a day's headstart. Just long enough to find a tall cliff or a blaster.

Could you convince him? 

“Please, Kylo,” your voice quaked, “Please, let me go. Or make all of this go away.”

But what you were begging for was for him to make  _ you _ go away. To end this seemingly ceaseless back-and-forth between acceptance and survival. Your torso punched low to the ground, and you erupted into broken, wretched sobs.

“I just can’t.” You whispered as he crouched down silently and lifted your face. You shook your head from his touch. 

“This isn’t me,” you rallied and shouted, “You’ve taken everything! There isn’t anything else. Just let me go. Let me go or kill me.”

There was something else, another possibility dancing just beyond your trepidation. You knew that he saw it, but you still weren’t ready to take that leap, to let the beast out of the mirror and allow her to consume you, to burn away the parts of you that weren’t his. 

Ren’s strong arms gathered you up, caging your shuddering sorrow and caressing your neck while you cried. He smoothed down your hair and rubbed the length of your back, murmuring into your pulse that you needed to take a breath and then another and then one more.

His very demeanor was disarming, and you felt the fight ebbing out of every single pore. Resenting the ease with which he placated you, you clenched your fists again and batted at his chest, shifting and pulling away. Lifting puffy, red eyes, you glared at him, willing there to be more malice in your gaze than there was in your heart.

“No,” your voice was all harsh edges and angst. “You don’t get to be nice now.” 

You twisted in his arms, kicking at his shins, but he only held you tighter, his arms a vice around your middle. You sniffled and sobbed and tried to not let your anger die away. You needed it now more than you needed to breathe. It was the only thing that was yours, the only thing you had left.

“You’re not capable of being nice. You’re a monster.”

Ren dipped his face to yours and traced the curve of your chin with his lips. When you abandoned your bitter tirade, he slid long fingers up the column of your throat and squeezed, the way you’d asked him to yesterday. He turned your face so you had to look up at him with your shining, crestfallen eyes.

“Dammit, Kylo,” your lips trembled, the false voice he'd given you cracking with feeling, “I need you to be a monster.”

“Stop,” Ren shushed you, lifting his hand to your mouth and sliding his thumb in to hook at your teeth. 

The gesture, unique to you and he in all the Galaxy, silenced you, and he held tight to your throat as though to punctuate the notion that, in this moment, there was only you and him. 

You sniffled and pushed against his broad shoulders, but he didn’t chastise you further. He tugged you in by the jaw and nudged his nose through your tears.

“The Supreme Leader isn’t coming for you,” he crooned against your temple, "I killed him for daring to take what is mine." 

Your whole body went rigid at his admission, and you blinked, too shocked to speak. He stroked your hip soothingly, but you felt strung too tight. This knowledge should have eased you, but something was settling in your mind that you hadn’t considered before. 

Kylo Ren would never let you go.

Because he couldn’t.

“I will not make this go away,” he cupped your cheek and dipped his face down to press a kiss to the thumping heartbeat under his thumb. “You were made to suffer for me."

You sucked in a pained breath, caught between a gasp and a sob. The kernel of realization was spreading, growing by the second, and you were drowning, keening, lost to the implications of it. It raised your panic and your longing at the same time and shot through your body like lightning. 

"You want me to break you, puppet."

He clutched at your back, obscuring all the world around him and folding you into his darkness. 

"Almost as much as I want to break you." 

There it was.

Ren came alive when he was hurting you. He spread out into the universe like it was meant for him, just waiting for him to conquer the very stars. But only when you were bleeding and crying at his feet. 

This was not the same man you first met a week ago. Gone was the unconquerable rage and tantrum, the explosion of too much turmoil. Gone, too, was the leash that held Ren's potential in check.

The man before you was calculatingly cruel with clear intent. His viciousness was purposeful, and he existed without boundaries, without limitations. He had entirely cast off all inhibition and conscience.

Kylo Ren was now the most skilled, destructive, horrible weapon in the Galaxy. 

And you were his whetstone. 

“The next time I hurt you,” he licked at your earlobe and whispered, “It will be because you begged me for it."

The gavel crashed down, and all you could hear was the rushing of your blood. He’d cemented it, practically carved it into your skin. 

He would chase you into oblivion because you were the only thing that made him feel alive. This whirlwind of terror and feeling you existed in together was the only thing that ignited fire in him.

And you would let him.

You would worship your Child God in any and every bloody way he wanted because he was the only thing that made  _ you _ feel alive.

It was only a matter of time.

You dissolved into tears all over again, collapsing against all of his unyielding and letting him wrap you up into that otherworldly embrace. He tucked you against his heart, rocking you from side to side and soothing you with his steady pulse. He pressed his lips into your temple and murmured there that you were so pretty when you cried.

You couldn’t stop the sobbing now for anything, so complete was your heartbreak. 

You mourned blue and purple skies, pink-tinted sunrises, and twinkling sunsets; rushing, clean water and a rainbow of flowers; the frenetic disarray of the workshop and the tools you had been collecting for years that you would never see again. You lamented that you would likely never again be able to set yourself to a task, to fixing a broken thing, and see it finished and made whole.

You would only ever be the broken thing.

Most of all, you grieved for yourself. Because you knew that you would relent. You would give him what he wanted because the part of you straining to belong to him was expanding by the hour. Soon, she would be strong enough, and your freedom would be gone. You would let him defile you day after day.

“You will ask me,” he instructed, tipping your face up to taste your tears on a kiss, “and I will drown you in the clearest water I can find.”

You whimpered against his mouth and curled fingers into his dark tresses. He chased the sound away with a nip to your lower lip, licking at the quiver. He purred at you like a lover, and you wondered if this was pillowtalk for a man whose base language was violence.

“I will make you bleed on forest floors, and I will listen to your screams echo off of mountains.”

His warm breath mingled with yours, lips barely touching, as he coaxed the tip of your tongue up to touch his before canting your head to one side and kissing you so deep you forgot to breathe. He licked at your teeth and sucked on your tongue.

“And I will fuck you so hard the only name you remember is mine,” his voice was lower, all gravel and demand and lust. 

“You just have to ask me, puppet.”

Teeming with uneasy arousal, your body flushed in response to his words, to the conviction with which he said them. You lifted onto your toes to better receive his kisses, and he hummed in satisfaction against your mouth. 

It was as though he had promised you moonlight, paradise, babies, and your heart responded to each threat as though they were professions of love. He knew your fears and was trying to assuage them, to paint you a pretty picture so you would give in to him. 

You knew this wasn’t love. Neither of you were capable of such a fanciful notion. This was obsession, and it would likely be just as fleeting. But it would be absolute.

“Stop crying,” he said into your neck, molding the length of your body to his.

Ren slid your limbs around his body in that familiar way, and you squeezed at his sides when he lifted you. You buried your face into his neck, shaking silently and trying to obey, to get yourself collected. 

The war inside of you wasn’t over, and you hadn’t gained any ground today. But you understood the battlefield better than you ever had before.

Crawling into the little bed with you, he shifted you so that you were lying beside him, your tight, anxious back pressed into his calm, steady torso. He slid an arm around your rib cage, tucked his hot hand in at your breast, and snuggled his erection between your buttocks.

You clutched at his arm, sniffling and fighting adrenaline tremors. 

Ren nuzzled the back of your neck, and you marveled at how today was so much different than yesterday. You’d just begged this man, this monster, to end your life, to rise up to his reputation. Instead, he had weaponized kindness and thrown you entirely off kilter, to the point where you were entertaining his offers to persecute you throughout the Galaxy.

“Sleep,” he commanded, his voice almost gentle. “We’ll be there by morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the meanest thing you can do to someone is be nice. :0


	9. Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbecoming and becoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is graphic with the violence. Please take note of the additional tags.   
> As always, thanks for hanging in. <3

Day Nine

The night passed with bursts of turbulent sleep sprinkled with anxious longing. Each time you woke, you tried to track the fissure of your discontent to its source, and you tamped down the lump in your throat when you realized this was the longest you had ever gone without some version of Ren’s wickedness upon your body. You felt lacking, mournful, empty without it.

He caught you watching him a few times, after your eyes had adjusted and the ship had settled into white noise. He didn’t say anything, preferring instead to tug at your lower lip or earlobe until you relented and closed your eyes again. When his breathing evened out in dream, you barely kept yourself from tracing the scar on his face and the fading bits of pink at his throat.

You were flooded with questions, fears. Had he known that cutting you open like that would mark him, too? Had it hurt when he did it? Did he do it anyways, and what did that mean? Why had he given you so much leverage? Kylo Ren was not a patient man. Was he so convinced of your weakness that he offered you this pretend peace?

“Quiet yourself,” his voice was hushed, “Or I will quiet you.”

You chewed your lower lip and nodded, remembering that he could see and hear you. You concentrated on his breathing until it was again restful and balanced before you replayed all of yesterday, the words and sounds, the feelings he’d expertly crafted and torn asunder. 

Ren had spent a week laying you low, retooling and repurposing your will to survive. You had spent years on full-time alert, ever vigilant against Santcha and his machinations. Ren had stolen that anxiety from your very soul and replaced it with only him.

Your fear of him was absolute, and he did set you to trembling just by being in the room. But he was also the eye of the storm, the calming post to which you could tether. He would hurt you, but he would keep you alive and safe so that he could continue to plunder your body for the tender treasure buried inside.

Could he give to you, though? Or was their only take in his heart?

You felt the idea solidify in the pit of your stomach, the decision made bodily and without conscious involvement, and you swallowed dry hesitation. Your savage reflection had come for you in this dark room, where you lie surrounded by murderers and thieves. She slid into your skin, looked at Ren through your eyes, and hungered, salivated, for the future he promised.

Licking your lips, you gave yourself one more breath to decide on your course, another second for your rational brain to back out, but the compulsion to change direction didn’t come. You settled into determination, your body rising to the moment, to the cliff from which you were about to jump. No part of you doubted what you were about to do.

If you were going to be the devil’s doll, you wanted something in return.

Inching alongside Ren, you memorized the peaceful look on his face as he slept. The tormented man he had been until yesterday seemed like he didn’t sleep much, but this man was no longer terrorized, no longer chased into exhaustion by a relentless Master who dogged his every step.

You longed for dreamless sleep like that.

Tucking yourself in close, you pressed your torso to his, expelling a tremulous breath as your stiff nipples dragged his skin. You wiggled in closer until your mouth was just below his ear, creeping into his space, the counterpart to his crowding.

He shifted against you, a quiet sigh puffing breath into your hair, and you bit back a groan at how good it felt to be so near him. His musky smell invaded your nose, setting your tongue to curling into the roof of your mouth. His skin was softer than you remembered, and you traced the length of one abdominal muscle to watch it ripple on reflex. 

Ren was massive and unyielding, and he caged you without even trying.

You peppered soft kisses into the sensitive skin just beneath his ear and reached down to palm his soft dick, gently rubbing and cupping it against his body. You licked and nipped at his earlobe and buried your face into the raven curls, tugging on a lock between your teeth. 

His cock was the first part of him to respond, twitching to life and lengthening against your hand, and you hummed into his shoulder. It still amazed you that you could provoke a response in such a man. Ignoring your body’s shouts for his touch, you slowly stroked his arousal, loose with just your fingertips, and plied his jaw and neck with lingering, lips-dragging kisses.

“You play a dangerous game, puppet.”

His raspy tone delighted you, sent tingles up your spine to spread through your ribs, and you dipped your tongue into the hollow of his throat, wanting to feel the vocal cords resonate. Ren’s heavy arm pulled from beneath the pillow and wrapped down around your middle, hugging you tight, while deft fingers slid up your throat to circle and clasp until you whimpered.

You arched into him, molding your body to his and nuzzling his cheek, and tried to concentrate on anything other than the delicious, dull throb that drummed between your thighs. You only had one shot at this, and you couldn’t abandon the bid now.

Releasing your loose hold on Ren’s cock, you lifted trembling fingers to his mouth, tracing the full lower lip. He growled and clutched tighter at your neck, but you licked at the corner of his mouth, whispering the barest “please” there. Your soft, sensuous moan when he relented and parted his lips for you drew his hungry gaze, and you were quickly losing your composure.

You slid two fingers along the length of his tongue just as he’d done to you so many times, and your core clenched when he bit down to flick the end at your fingertips before letting them go. You wrapped slick fingers around his cock and began to stroke more insistently, relishing in his sharp intake of breath.

Every part of you was wet and wanting, loose and pliant. The air was perfumed with the mingling of your lust and his, and your head swam with the pure headiness of it. It was impossible, you decided, that any other man in the history of the Galaxy had ever been sexier than Ren in this very moment. 

“Will you do something for me? Just one thing, and I’ll be yours.”

Shifting his grip to the back of your neck, Ren caressed your shoulder with his plump lips, and you fought to remember your plan, the words you had decided upon before he agreed to play your game. Doubling down, you hardened your stroke, earning a delicious groan.

“This isn’t a negotiation, pet,” he growled the words into your throat, chasing them with a long, slow lick.

“Isn’t it?”

You were breathless, but you pressed on with more conviction than you thought you had. You squeezed a hot drop of arousal from the crown of his cock and rubbed it into the solid length.

“You said that you wouldn’t hurt me again until I asked you, and you’ve never lied to me, Kylo.”

He cursed under his breath as your stroking picked up pace, his cock coated with a steady stream of pre-cum. He had you trapped inside his arms, caught and penned in; but this time, you were the one working him, and the raw dominance of it was intoxicating.

“I’m only asking for one thing, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He captured your wrist and pulled your sticky fingers away with a barely concealed shudder. Turning your hand, he pressed his lips into the center of your palm. Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away as he licked at your fingers, tasting himself on your skin.

“Ask,” his voice was even, sinful.

“Santcha,” you wavered as he sucked on your index finger. “Find him. Kill him.” 

You trembled against him, hardly believing you were saying these words out loud. He tucked your licked-clean palm between your legs, working the digits to brush through the collecting moisture. You sucked on your cheek and jerked with the effort to clear your head.

“I will give you what you want when he’s dead.”

Ren lifted, turning your face out from the curve of his neck so he could gaze down upon you. You took the opportunity to steal your hand from your pussy and pressed the hot, syrupy fingers against his ribs, not missing the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

His face changed, shadowed by something new, something you didn’t intend, and his grip tightened around your throat. Whatever control you thought you’d had was gone, and you were under the creature’s claws once again.

“Between now and then, do you mean to tease me into compliance?” 

He cocked a brow and shifted so that you were more beneath him, sliding a thick leg between yours and pressing your body down into it. He purred at the feel of your swollen, wet lips, his heavy hand rocking your hips to drag your slick along his thigh. 

“Or did your plan involve me fucking this hungry cunt all along?”

The sound that came from you was pure, ragged arousal, and it shocked even you. You pressed at his shoulders weakly, not even sure you wanted him to move away. You hadn’t planned further than waking him up and making your demand. 

Foolishly, you’d expected him to be just like any other man.

“N-no,” you shook your head, but you were losing the battle for sanity, so caught up in how easily he completely smashed the strong mask you’d worked so hard to don.

He shifted again, claiming the space between your legs fully and spreading them apart with his knees. His great hand dragged down from throat to chest, and he leaned his weight into you there. Your eyes rolled back into your head on a moan, fingers chasing his wrist to clutch nervously.

You’d almost forgotten how good it felt to have him steal your breath this way.

“No? You planned to dangle this body,  _ my _ body,” he dug fingers into your hip and lifted it up as though it was evidence, “In front of me, thinking yourself just out of reach, to bend me to your will?"

“No!” It was barely a whisper, but you were had. Your game was up.

“Do you think there are no others who would spread their legs for me?” His voice had hardened, and he shot the words at you like nails. “That I can be manipulated like other men with the promise of a little pussy?”

Your face darkened, and you spat your next words out, his bullshit igniting fire in your nerve.

“Is that why you want to keep me here, hm? Because you DON’T want to fuck me?”

Your daring gaze locked on his, anger flashing yours clear and bright. His teeth gnashed and he leaned further down into you, compressing your lungs in his irritation. You had nothing to lose; so, you hit him with outright honesty.

“You’re not a man. You’re a brute, a beast.” 

You had to stop every few words to fight for enough air that you could continue. 

“Is that what you want to hear? You’re cruel, and you scare me, and you make me want things I shouldn’t.” 

You paused to gasp for breath, twisting fingers around his wrist and writhing beneath his palm. He was intent upon collapsing your bones with his weight, and you feared you would soon hear the crack as they splintered.

“But I’m here. And I showed you I’m here with the only thing I have, the only thing you left me with.”

Your face flushed, red and mottled. You scratched at his forearm and lifted your shoulders and torso up into his heavy hand as much as you could, spurred on by the stinging needles in your lungs and the bitter bile you could taste at the back of your mouth.

“So, if you don’t want it, get the fuck off me and go find someone else because YOU’RE HURTING ME.”

You shouted the last words, hoping to jar him from his ire and remind him that he’d told you he wouldn’t do exactly this. You dropped back onto the mattress in defeat, but you met his annoyed glower with your own.

He would always win, but you would always fight back.

“Supreme Leader,” the voice came from the door where you could not see, “We found them.”

Ren chuffed a laugh and nodded, leaning down into you until his nose brushed yours. His weight won pathetic whimpers and sobs, his breath singed your lips, and his mocking grin shot ice into your heart.

“Not yet, puppet.” He licked at the corner of your mouth and pushed off of you suddenly. “But soon.”

In an hour, the  _ Night Buzzard _ had landed, the Knights of Ren were disembarked and waiting, and you were standing in the common area of the ship with Ren. You had been fed and dressed similar to all of them, black as night, fabric hugging as close to your skin as you could make it, the shape of your body hidden behind various layers and folds.

Ren donned his helmet, and you forgot to breathe. You gawked, struck dumb by the sight.

Reconstructed, the inky black you remembered was shot through with lava lines, angry glue to hold the bits of it, of him, back together. You didn’t know when he had it repaired, but it was striking, and you lightly traced the craggy red veins, thinking they reminded you of your blood, your own scars now. Had he done that on purpose?

Waving you off, he lifted the hood on your cloak and settled it far around your face, hiding you in the shadowy recesses. You looked up at him, lingering as long as he would allow in this stolen moment and wondering if this was some semblance of affection.

He said nothing but tapped his gloved index finger against your lower lip. It was instruction, a warning, and you nodded, desire licking up into your ears at the memory of that finger hooked into your teeth. 

Ren still wanted to keep the voice he’d given you for himself, and it satisfied you to no end that he didn’t want to share this basic function with anyone else.

You were the last to leave the ship, following a few paces back because you didn’t know what your purpose here was. He certainly didn’t require a weaponer, and you were nothing but an object to him beyond that. Like a child, you trailed behind, uncertain and unwilling to dive head first into the next five minutes.

He stopped midway down the ramp and turned to look at you over his shoulder. Even with the mask, you knew it was a withering stare, and you sped up to catch him. You were dawdling in your nervousness, and that simply would not do.

You wanted to reach for him, to cling to his cloak or shirt sleeve as though he would soothe and comfort you, but you didn’t think he would do either and kept your fisted hands to yourself.

“No, no, that ain’t right.”

You heard the voice before you saw the man, though, and your hand flew of its own accord to grip Ren’s cloak. Your steps faltered, and you couldn’t move. Your body broke out in a cold sweat because that voice, that fucking voice, haunted your dreams.

**_Let go, puppet._ **

The sound of Ren’s narcotic tone resonating in your head shocked you to your soles, and your saucer-wide eyes locked on him. As though he had burned you, you let go of his cloak immediately, tucking your hands back into the black at your arms and hoping none of the Knights had seen you cling to him like a fool.

“I’m telling you,” Santcha sneered, “We don’t trade with no Rebel scum. Whatever you’ve heard, it's false."

You snorted, too loud for your own good, shook from your pitiful reverie by the snide dissent. Lies. The man was only capable of lies. You’d been captured on a damn weapons raid. He had even left you behind! And he wanted to pretend like somebody else was there.

“You will be pleased to know,” Ren’s modulated voice cut through the air as he descended the last few steps into visibility, “I’m not interested in your weapons trade today.”

“Commander Ren,” Santcha’s surprise was clear, and you could hear the fear in his voice. “Wha-what can we help you with, Sir?”

“You will tell your  _ Supreme Leader _ ,” Ren’s bitterness rolled through the vocoder in thick, ill-tempered waves, “About the weaponer you’ve lost.”

“Supreme Leader, yes,” Santcha puffed out breath after vile breath, “I’m sorry, Supreme Leader, but I’m the only weaponer on this ship. Perhaps you have been misinformed.”

From your perch, you could see beads of sweat rolling down Santcha’s neck. He never did know when to shut up, and you looked from him to the old man a step behind, your Master, watching as he let Santcha dig himself an even deeper hole. He was always the great manipulator, you thought, happy to shuck the dead weight when it stopped being useful.

Ren spoke your name. It was simple and clear, and it hit Santcha in the chest like a bomb. You saw the moment it registered that he couldn’t simply pretend you didn’t exist. He would need a new tactic. Back peddling, he stammered and nodded.

“Oh her? Yes, she was a weaponer of ours for a brief while. Worthless, though, bad at her job, always late. Kept trying to fuck all the customers. We cut her loose.”

“Worthless traders seem to be common.”

You remembered when the threat in that voice was directed at you, when the venom behind that word turned it from occupation to insult. Even Santcha didn’t miss the scorn coming through the helmet, and his slimy face scrunched up distastefully.

Ren glanced over his shoulder again briefly, and you took that as your cue to finish descending the ramp, coming fully into view. You knew that you didn’t look much different from the others, clad all in black. You could simply be a member of the crew, smaller of build, shorter than the rest.

You quaked with fury and trepidation inside the robes, but you kept moving forward until you were between captives and captor. Santcha shifted his gaze from Ren to you, the corners of his lips turning down in annoyance that you were interrupting his audience with the Supreme Leader. His cohort, your Master, caught on before he did.

“Daughter,” your Master’s voice was affable, soft, the way it always was, and your hate-filled gaze shot to him, ignoring the way Santcha ogled you, stupefied.

You loathed that word, that bastard lie of a title. Slaves are not sons, not daughters.

Everything in you, every feeling you had ever had snapped in the next second. Weeks, months, years of bottling up layer upon layer of abuse had been completely undone by Kylo Ren in a week, and you burned with righteous indignation.

The tirade that spilled forth over your lips couldn’t have been stopped upon pain of death. It was too long repressed, too long deserved.

“I AM NOT,” your voice boomed out from inside the cloak, just as your booted foot came up to the old man’s pudgy chest, “YOUR FUCKING DAUGHTER.”

You were live-wire adrenaline, mania-fueled and singular in purpose. If these two had prepared you to endure Ren’s torture, Ren had prepared you for exactly this, to explode upon them with no reservation. 

Your boot came down again and again upon your Master’s chest, stomach, shoulders. You cursed and heaved and yelled on every ferocious stomp, pommeling this scum of a man with every ounce of anguish you’d ever endured at his hand.

You weren’t simply radiating your pain now. You were wielding it like a weapon, and you watched him shrink, shriveling further away under the surge.

Santcha leapt to his feet, a snarl on his face, and reached for you only to be suspended mid-air. He yelped and was dragged away to hang helpless, forced to look on as the woman he was certain he’d broken long ago erupted into madness.

In your riotous fit, the cloak was cumbersome and weighty. You felt constricted by all of the layers Ren had dressed you in, and you needed to feel every second of this. You tore the cloak away, followed by sleeves and half of the shirt. 

You were a feral thing now, bloodthirsty and insatiable.

You bent back down to your target and pounded at his face with bare-knuckled brutality until your hands were lacerated and throbbing. When you finally stepped away, you were spattered with the old man’s blood and gulping down air. 

Santcha spit every curse he could think of at you, calling you every kind of whore under the twin suns, having forgotten that Ren was right there, watching and listening. He never was good for minding his surroundings.

Just as Ren’s Force hold slid around his neck, shutting up his idiotic tirade, you leveled him with a deadly stare, lips twisting into a sardonic smirk.

“I am someone’s whore, Santcha. But not yours. Never yours.”

You heard Ren’s lusty growl from where you stood, and it blossomed a bonfire in your body. You stepped over to him, and he wrapped gloved fingers around your bare throat, spreading the old man’s blood into your flushing skin. He would punish you for disobeying his gag order; but for now, his touch was something akin to understanding, and you were grateful for it.

“Let the past die.” Ren pulled the vibroblade from his cloak and pushed it into your hands. “Kill it if you have to. It's the only way to become who you were meant to be.”

**_Mine._ **

His dulcet declaration rang in your ears, and the sheer force of his will echoed in your bones. Wrapping bloody digits tight around the handle, you turned back to the men who had spent years beating you, maiming and wounding you.

Looking at them, you found yourself strangely thankful. It was abrupt and overwhelming. Every scratch, wound, bruise, and broken bone had molded you into this creature, able to bear Ren’s violence, his rage, his magnificent, dark, sadistic hunger. 

They had unknowingly made you a strong and capable receptacle, fit for this Child God and his wondrous wrath.

As the reality of it took root, you found you could forgive them for a great many things, all manner of immorality and atrocities.

All but two.

You were fluid as you stepped to your Master, calm and absent inhibition. This man was going to suffer at your hand. It was absolute. 

You crouched down over him, ignoring the pitiful sniffles and sobs, and tore away the patchwork rags to bear his abdomen. You ran the backs of your fingers along the path your blade would take and relished the tremble of his body.

Animosity flooded you from ears to toes. He deserved this, every agonizing fucking second of it. 

You almost thought you wouldn’t do it, a flash of second-guessing, but you sought counsel over your shoulder from Ren, your dark deity, your inhuman savior. Nearly imperceptible, he nodded at you, nudging you forward.

Remembering how this manipulative, contemptible, degenerate man had ignored your pleas, you ignited the blade and sunk it deep into his belly, listening to the skin and guts sizzling at the fierce weapon’s path.

Hot blood gushed up around your fingers, wrists, and forearms, but you didn’t hesitate in your scheme. You cut the man’s abdomen open from one side to the other in retribution for the future he’d stolen from you. 

It was a gruesome, smiling reckoning, a worthy offering to an ominous idol.

Momentarily appeased, you watched the old man bleed out. You wiped some of his filth from your face and licked the taste of it from your thumb. If this was the Dark Side, you understood the pull, and you thought you’d let Ren break every bone in your body just for this moment, this chance to be the avenging spirit in the void.

Your merciless stare landed upon Santcha, who was now sniveling and groveling with agitated tears, shaking and twisting in Ren’s Force choke hold. The knife thrummed and buzzed in your hand, and you tested your slippery grip, using Santcha’s own shirt to wipe away enough of the old man’s gore so you could hold the weapon steady.

You stepped up to him, toe to toe for the first time in a decade, and lifted your eyes to his. It was his stare that was afraid now, his lips that wobbled in terror. Your acid gaze trailed to the hollow of his throat, and you remembered the day he’d taken your voice, the disdain in his eyes, and the way he spat into your open wound. 

“Never yours, Santcha.”

You lifted the vibroblade and sunk it directly into the center of his neck, earning a pop, a gurgle, and a torrent of Santcha’s blood spurting and trailing down his chest to mingle with that already decorating your body. Sated, you watched him jerk and twitch before dislodging the blade and dropping it to the ground.

In a matter of heartbeats, it was done.

You looked from one body to the other and then to Ren, your eyes wide and glassy. The weight of what you’d just done settled, and the tidal wave of hostile vitriol you’d been riding crested. You lifted tremor-wracked hands and stared at the carnage webbed between your fingers.

He was on you in a second, one large arm wrapped around your back just as your legs weakened and threatened to abandon you. He crowded in and pressed himself to you, and your brow furrowed, thinking you were never so grateful for his callous disregard of personal space. Leather slid around your delicate nape to squeeze, centering your focus as he always did.

“No survivors, puppet.” 

It was a simple thing, a question and a statement. In his deliberate way, Ren was asking if you were able to stand for the length of time it would take him to finish your killing spree. Thunderstruck, you wondered when this had become life and nodded a numb reply.

You heard the whoosh of the lightsaber and saw red at the edges of your vision, but you closed your eyes to concentrate on stopping the clattering of your teeth and didn’t see whatever he did next to ensure your revenge was finished.

The feel of his flesh fingers pulled a crackly whimper from your desert-dry throat, and you looked up to see his face. You traced his lips with dirty, trembling fingertips and marveled at the path destiny had unfolded for you with this livid angel, this monstrosity of a man.

Your head swam with the profanity, the vulgarity of it all. You’d asked Ren to kill Santcha for you, and he’d given you the opportunity and the weapon to do it yourself. His hands on your body, his ever-present sanguine need, and his hedonist black heart had built you up so that there was no fear, no doubt. 

Having survived the pure magnitude of Kylo Ren, was there nothing you could not do now?

“I need to see.” You pushed at his hands suddenly, turning in his arms in the direction of the ramp. “I need to see! Kylo, I need…”

The hysteria in your voice concerned you, but the undercurrent of gratification and carnality concerned you more. You tore through the ship and found the communal bathroom with its one commode, one basin sink, and one little, dingy, cloudy mirror.

The auto-light blipped into awareness as you skidded in and washed the room with light just in time for you to see her, staring back at you, bold and unflinching.

She was blood-soaked and panting. Her lips and eyes were swollen from the terrible eruption of emotion. Ruddy fingers wiped gore from her mouth, and you could see her knuckles were swollen, grisly from use. She looked beat to hell, as though she barely made it out of the fight alive.

But it was her eyes that captivated you.

Shining, rabid, and ferocious, her pupils were blown wide with untamed yearning and satisfied murderous thirst. She was a fearsome sight to behold. In a spark of recognition, you knew where you’d seen those eyes before.

She was looking back at you with  _ his _ eyes.

Ren stepped into the bathroom and wrapped himself about you, long arms enveloping you into his sedative gravity. You sighed, relieved, and he buried his face into the bend of your neck, murmuring against the drying blood that you had done so well. His fingertips skimmed across your belly, skittering delectably until they dipped below the waistband of your trousers.

On impulse, your hand shot up to slam against the glass. It drew his omnivore glare, but you were ready, aching for him to consume you whole. He pressed against you, the hard column of his body pinning you to the sink. He dug his fingertips into the round of your hips, eyes boring into you, daring you to speak.

“Show me,” you implored, your modulated voice choppy with something unnamed. “Please.”

He growled into your ear, the flash of understanding shocking his features into intimidating artistry, and he pressed his lips into your temple and held them there. You couldn’t tell if he was more excited that you’d asked him to hurt you or that you wanted to watch him do it.

But you were looking for something else.

Your breath skipped when you locked eyes with her, waiting to see not just what he would do, but how she looked when he did it.

With no further notice, Ren’s fingers burrowed viciously into your stomach, curling into the skin in an attempt to wrap around the lowermost ridge. You shouted out, the vocoder inflection haunting and harrowed, and desperately tried to not look away as he found purchase beneath your rib cage. 

He lifted you by this unnatural handle, pulling you back into his unforgiving chest and lifting you off of the ground. You whined as your entire middle pulsed, the muscles straining around the invasion. Determined to control the sobs, you pressed your mouth into a thin line, fighting through this unholy grip to open your eyes.

Making that contact, you sucked in a pained wheeze and studied the woman looking back at you. Her hands had slithered over top of his, the scrambling fingers wrapping around his wrists. She wasn’t trying to push him away; she was grounding herself to his painful caress.

That woman flushed an enticing shade of aroused, her face screwed into an alluring grimace. You brimmed with understanding, clarity. 

Ren was right. That woman suffered  _ beautifully _ .

His hands released your ribs, and you collapsed against the sink. Air rushed back in unimpeded, and you gulped it in, dropping your head back against his chest. He kissed the top of your head and tucked his fingers in beneath your arms. Unrelenting, the large digits gouged in again just above the topmost rib, right into the soft axillae. He ground and twisted into the skin until you sobbed.

“Look,” he commanded, his voice brokering no resistance.

You shook your head, not ready and hoping for more time for the endorphins to catch up to you, but he needled your sides until you gripped the sink tight and stood onto your toes. Forcing your abdomen to expand, you concentrated on your breath and complied, cracking your eyes open to meet his demand.

“You got what you wanted.” 

You nodded along with his words, frozen but eager for what you knew came next. The demon lived up to his bargain, and the bill was due.

“Say it.”

He eased the punitive digging and slid his fingers down over your soft abdomen, pulling you backwards into him. His touch was whisper soft in the wake of what you knew would be two new bruises, burgeoning with a whirlwind of color. He pressed his eager length into you again, and you groaned at the feel of him, hard and ready.

You drew in a ragged breath and turned in his embrace. Everything that would never be said hung in the air, and you looked up at him, brazen and blistered. Lifting his hand, you bent down and pressed your filthy, bloody mouth against his palm before raising the fingers to your neck, training them to curve around with your own.

It wasn’t that you were suddenly fearless. It was that you rode the fear, feeling it slide between your legs and pool under your tongue.

“Make me yours.”

You were terrified of what would come next, but it was as inevitable as dawn, as waves crashing on the shore. Ren had infiltrated each atom and synapse of your being, remapping your genetic code to blend his hurt with your sorrow.

He had ensured that you would worship him with your every breath, every scream, every shed tear.

You expected him to explode, to roar and growl and plow you over with angry haste and impunity. Instead, he leaned in to nudge at your nose with his, and your brave facade cracked. He tightened his hold on your throat, hearkening you back to yesterday and the sweet threats he made.

“You woke up this morning mine, puppet,” he nipped at your ear. “Ask for what you want.”

Tucking his hands under your thighs, he lifted you and set you onto the metal sink, bending to watch you through heavy lids and long, black lashes. You clutched at his shirt,burying your face into the fabric in a forlorn attempt to put off the inevitable. He was going to make you beg, just like he told you he would.

You shook and cried into his chest. A satisfied rumble vibrated against your face, and he tugged you out from that hiding spot, lifting your chin to kiss at the splotchy skin, licking away the tears.

You felt as though you were carrying this great burden but to name it, to put your voice to it, would destroy you. But that was the point, wasn’t it? He wanted to obliterate you so that he could rebuild you from the detritus.

You forced your lungs to inhale and exhale, focusing on your white knuckles and trying to formulate how to ask for something so simple as a beating and so complex as the complete wreckage of who you were as a person.

“Y-you,” your voice broke, and it felt like you’d swallowed glass, “You s-said that you would drown me and ma-make me bleed and listen to me scream.”

He purred and rubbed his mouth into your quick heartbeat, murmuring agreement, sucking coppery flakes from your skin, and turning your insides to liquid. Large fingers slithered up into your hair and tipped your head back, baring more real estate for his exploration.

“And you sa-said,” you whined as he nipped at your shoulder, “Fuck!”

You stopped, your brow knit tight because the weak stuttering was making you angry. You drew in a deliberate breath, low and long, and carried on through closed eyes. 

“You said that,” you took another slow breath, “You would fuck me until I couldn’t remember my name.”

You faltered, unsure you could say it. You wanted this man to take everything from you, but you weren’t sure you could give it to him willingly.

He was hovering, you could feel it; he was waiting for your next words to strike. Placating fingers were curling to tangle at the back of your neck, and his lips danced over your pulse, but his whole body was tense, barely containing the tempest within. 

You were going to break the barricade with whatever you said next, and it was a powerful, palpable thing, rising up just under your skin and rubbing against your insides.

“I…” you conjured the face of the woman in the mirror, “I want that.”

Ren’s mouth stretched wide over the curve of your throat, and he sunk his teeth down into the tender skin on such a loud growl your cry was lost. Both of his large hands clenched to fists, one in your hair and one in your shirt.

You had endured his punitive bite before, four times. Each time, he had only taken from you and left behind pretty emptiness in the wake of his mouth. This bite, this terrible assault on your flesh, was a wholly different act, and you quaked with perverse delight.

“Kylo,” you sobbed. “Please…”

The abject plea in your voice drew his jaws wider apart. You felt the lathe of his tongue just before he pressed his palm into the wall for support. Wrapping his arm tight around your middle, he sunk back onto that horrible, irresistible spot and attacked with such fervor that you screamed.

He tugged and chewed and wrenched until your pitiable skin finally broke for him, proffering a fresh sanguine wave into his mouth. He groaned into you, shaking and clawing until you both were blood drunk, fuzzy and spinning.

This wasn’t punishment. This was claiming, a grisly branding; and when he lifted his lips away, you felt the throb of his imprint upon you and knew he would never let that mark fade. It was the only type of gift he could give you, barbaric and raging.

You were delirious, limp in his arms with your head resting against the mirror, flying in the vortex of suffering and sex he brought with him each and every time.

“Mine.” He rubbed his nose through the trickle coloring your collarbone. 

Weakly, your hands lifted to his hips, fingers cinching in at the waist. You pushed away from the mirror and opened your eyes. Collecting bit after bit of strength, you arched up into him, leaning into the maelstrom rather than hiding from it.

You had to show him. You had to prove that you could, you  _ would _ , survive him every time.

Bloody fingers captured your face, and he devoured your mouth with insistent kisses, sharing the taste of your very cells until you writhed and moaned. Daringly, you bit at his lower lip, wanting to taste his claret offering in return, and he dug fingers into your spine on a grunt.

Ren tore himself from you suddenly, and you blinked, dazed and slow. He yanked you from the little sink and spun you to face the mirror, yourself, once more. Instructing you to hold onto the corners, he tore at the clothing keeping you from him.

It was no longer than a moment, and he was behind you, pushing between your legs and invading the most intimate cavern of your body on one painful push. He forced you onto your toes with his sheer size, and you cried out from the stretch and fullness of it.

“Look!”

He nearly shouted it, already lost to the hot suction of your cunt and pounding into it with such force your hips slammed into the metal edge. He wrapped his demanding hand around your neck again, right beneath the jaw, and tipped your head just as your eyes cracked open.

You gaped at him. He was unhinged, completely consumed by desire and burning incandescent. Every thrust of his wide hips was frenzied, and he curved his whole body around you as though to ensure you would never escape.

But you…

You had become the perfect container for his combustion, enduring his need to consume the very planets and stars and offering up your body, your life, your everything to satisfy his limitless demands. 

Your lips were parted and plush, your bright red tongue smearing brown flakes to pink stains with each appearance. Your eyes shone like moons, a constant gloss covering the color from tears he effortlessly called forth. Your body rocked and bowed and undulated for him, a superb cradle for his lusty wrath.

“One more, puppet,” his craving thrusts subsided for just a breath. It wasn’t a warning; it was permission.

Pushing your head to one side, he bared the side of your throat that was empty of him and sunk down into the skin ferociously, his jaws clamping down so quick and so tight you saw stars. 

It was immediate, the iron-like trap of his bite shooting you into blinding orgasm, overwhelming your every sense until there was only him and the bloody collar he was cinching about your neck.

You howled and sobbed and thrashed against him, your body unable to withstand such a buffeting in stillness. Your fingers scratched, your cunt spasmed and clenched, and your hips pushed back into him, wanting more and more and more.

He moaned against you, breaking the skin again, and pushed his throbbing cock far into you so he could feel your fight all over. The tremor wracking you was unrelenting, and your core clamped down almost unbearably tight, beckoning him into bliss.

Releasing his hold on your battered throat, he clutched at your hips and pressed his forehead into your shoulder. A loud series of shameless, obscene moans dropped from his lush lips, and he rewarded you with deep, deep strokes, as though he could push himself so far into you that you’d leak his DNA with every step you took for the rest of your life.

Spent, his barrage eased, and you slumped forward, trying to prop your hands onto the mirror and wall but failing. You were sapped of all strength and wrung dry of emotion. 

Ren had wrecked you, just as you’d asked.

His hard hands turned gentle, and he pushed down on your back to keep you against the sink and upright while he adjusted his clothes. Benumbed, you were unable to assist in any way as he lifted and turned your torso so he could carry you.

In your fog, you thought you heard him praising you, murmuring into your ear that you were beautiful and perfect. You wrapped your fingers into something soft and tried to open your eyes, but your body won out over your desire to stay here with him.

Broken, sated, unabashedly liberated, you sunk down into oblivion.


	10. Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempus Fugit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE take note of the content warnings.

Day Ten

The first time you woke, it was to pitch black and silence. You were tangled up in Ren’s arms, both warmed and discomfited by such close proximity. Your head rested upon his biceps, lips pressed against his chest. He had folded you into his body so tightly that to move an inch would disturb and alert him, an envelope that would tear at the first tug on the letter.

You were sore and exhausted, sapped of all spirit. The damage at your neck thrummed in time to your pulse, and you could trace it all the way to your toes. A strangled whimper broke loose when you tried to swallow, but you couldn't rebound fast enough to hide it. Ren’s head bent down to sweep gentle kisses along the curve, murmuring things into the skin that you couldn’t hear over your heartbeat.

You pushed at his belly, trying to dislodge yourself, but he caged you and cinched both arms tight. His voice in your head, unfamiliar, all-encompassing, made you jump when he asked what you needed, and he produced a little glass of water for you in response, chasing the last drops from your lips when you finished.

Curling you back into place, Ren threaded his fingers into your hair and palmed your scalp, holding you right where he wanted. He stretched his divine power into your brain and drove you back down into dreamless sleep.

The second time you woke, you were rolled out from your cozy spot and pushed onto your stomach. On a distorted whine, you tried to kick away the person jostling and turning you. Your eyes cracked open slightly as large hands wrapped around your hips and tugged you up onto your knees.

The dark of the room cast hazy doubt over what was happening. Were your calves and thighs being spread apart; or, were you dreaming? Unsteady, you griped and grumbled at the pillow stuffed beneath your belly and propping your ass up, but you were too stuck between somnolence and consciousness to register that you should feel vulnerable or afraid.

The fingers pinching into your hips were absolutely real, though, as was the body that knelt behind you. Thighs, hip bones, standing, hard cock -- ALL real. Your eyes shot fully open, and your mind cleared, tumbling and panicked. Bruised, lacerated hands pushed into the mattress, a blind attempt at scrambling away, but you were compelled back down by nothing, by the unseen.

Your brain caught up with your flight response, shocking you into the understanding that it was Ren behind you, between your legs, and it was the Force holding you down. You were given mere seconds to adjust before you felt slightly damp fingers at your entrance, and you knew. You just knew.

That was the only lubrication you were going to get.

His cock head speared into you and split you apart, bursting red mist and black spots behind your eyelids. Ren swore and growled at the impossible tightness, carving at your cunt with the blunt end of his dick until it stretched and lengthened for him. 

Tears sprang to your inflamed eyes as they always did for him, and you clawed at the mattress, aching fingers scrabbling across the sheets. When he was finally fully seated and had forced your body into compliance, you expelled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and gulped down air. 

You screwed your eyes tight shut and told yourself that this wasn’t rape; this wasn’t an assault, no matter how vicious the beginning. When Ren’s hips began to move, though, you couldn’t hold the memories in and bit down on the sheet to keep from sobbing.

“You’d be enjoying yourself more, puppet,” his condescending smirk was evident in the tone of his voice, “If only you’d learn to do as you’re told.”

You bristled with ire, understanding that he was withholding any measure of kindness because you hadn’t kept your silence, probably because you hadn’t given him a fucking blow job the day before that. But your cunt, and all of your abdomen, stung at the rough invasion, and your irritation was overtaken by the blinding pain radiating up from the deepest parts of you.

You tried to relax, tried to will the adrenaline away, but even your mantra had deserted you, chased off by Ren’s destructive turmoil. You coached yourself that this was not Santcha, not some lunatic customer you’d been sold to for a night. This was Kylo. Your Kylo.

Your guts curdled at the thought, and you shook your head against the bed. You were his, his object, his receptacle, but he wasn’t yours. He would never let himself belong to you the way you now belonged to him, no matter how much you might want it.

“Your body betrays you, pet.”

The words barely scraped through his gritted teeth, and he rocked against you with more intensity because your body was, in fact, rising to his challenge. It always would. Your cunt loosened, pliant and slick for him already. Your hips had let go of some of their apprehension, and your tight back had eased.

You trembled and cried into the sheets, ashamed that you had ever allowed yourself to be so dehumanized and angry at your body’s eager response. In the span of minutes, he’d roused you only as much as he needed, manipulated your body to his preference, and fucked himself into you without so much as a second thought.

And you were liquid for it.

He was doing exactly the thing you’d asked for yesterday. He was taking what he wanted from you, robbing you of your complicity, and shooting you into a whirlwind of emotion and obscenity and pain. 

He had hollowed you out and filled you with only himself.

You didn't know if he’d been waiting to make sure he wouldn’t punch a hole clean through your pussy; but when you were accepting his thrusts more easily, Ren wasted no more time on your readiness or pleasure. 

He crashed into you, fingers gouging bruises into your hips. He offered you no quarter, not a second’s worth of delay or comfort. His pace was brutal, his vice grip holding you hostage as he slammed forward too fast for you to do anything but receive. The hammering fullness of his cock was mind-numbing, and you were quickly rendered a mewling, sniffling mess beneath him.

Ren paid you no mind, and you burned with shame, indignation, and unabashed lust. Somehow, you knew many of his days started with an orgasm; but now, he had himself a living doll to fuck instead of his fist. He had reduced you to nothing more than an ever-open hole, further cementing that you belonged to him in every and any way he wanted.

“Yes, you fucking do,” he growled it out, and you realized he was listening to your every pitiful, uneasy thought.

Ren stretched his long arm out and wedged his hand between your shoulder blades, burying your face into the mattress with his weight and stunting your breath. It deepened the angle of your pussy, and he groaned so loud you heard it through the muffle. He rewarded your body’s response by bottoming out again and again.

Absent oxygen, your every muscle tightened from stem to stern. In the fuzzy middle of consciousness, you pictured what you must look like to him, flushed and supple, bent over and cracked open, leaking all manner of your insides just for him.

“Fuck. Say it. Show me.”

His instruction filtered into your fabric bubble, sinking you further into your mental imagery. Your brain flitted to bloody hands and grungy sinks, dark eyes and white light. ‘I am someone’s whore’ sprang to the forefront, and Ren’s throat erupted into a choppy series of grunts.

He pinned you there, a tiny fly in his Galaxy-sized web, and railed you, crashing into you with no reservation and pushing all of his weight into your hips. Just before you slipped away, you heard the echo of his voice in your bones.

**_Yes. My whore. My pussy. My body._ **

Digging thick fingers and nails into your back, he moaned, hoarse and low, and filled you, his personal repository, with his seed. When his ragged breathing eased somewhat, he unearthed you from your trench, turning your face so your lungs could fill with jagged air and your senses could return.

Ren hovered over you, barely a smudge in the dark. He peppered your spine with kisses, centering his attention on the crescents he’d created to dot the terrain. You were little more than a messy puddle in the center of his large bed.

“Mine.”

Your brow knit, eyes crinkling on feeling, and you nodded, the barest and smallest of gestures. It earned you another kiss, though, and you clung to that prideful, accomplished feeling as he withdrew. Burrowing knuckles into your mouth to quash the quiver, you collapsed onto your side, curling into a ball.

"Sleep," he crooned the command against your temple and slid from the bed, having gotten what he wanted and not caring about anything beyond that.

The third time you woke, the light cycle had begun, and you barked out a curse at the idiotic, unnecessary brightness of this white room. When you could see without flinching, you shifted slowly, dragging your mangled, thoroughly-used body from the bed to the bathroom. 

Settling both hands onto the full mirror, you studied your reflection. The shiny reckoning was absolute. The eyes, swollen lips, and battered and marred figure in the mirror were all you. That feral creature, that banged-up beast, wasn’t separate from you anymore.

On the counter, you found a pile of black clothing adorned with a note. It was a plain white card, but the script was flourishing, looped and lovely. “Be good, puppet,” it read, and you snorted, throwing the thing over your shoulder. But when it dawned on you what it might actually mean, you spit out the toothbrush and scrambled for it. 

He’d left you clothing, something he’d never done before.

You tore through the pile, laying out the shirt, socks, and pants. A bit of hunting produced boots, and you spent exactly no amount of time deciding whether you were going to shower. Fuck it, you thought; he’d gotten you all dirty and tramped up, and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of cowing under any more shame.

Hurriedly, you dressed in the form-fitting pants, socks, and boots. The shirt-cowl combination was simply too much, and you tore offending pieces of the fabric away until it resembled something like an asymmetric tank top. 

You stopped to look in the mirror, taking in this new version of yourself. Clad in all black, you looked like a thief, a marauder, and the shameless display of scars and bruises lent you a dangerous aura. You pictured yourself as the black nebula now, slithering unseen into the periphery and infecting it with your ethos, your intention.

Emboldened, you vaulted from the small room and towards the threshold. You paused just before the door, skeptical and pondering. It could be a trick, you reasoned. Ren would dangle this freedom, this personhood, in front of you as a test. But would he actually give it to you? 

Waving your hand where you thought the sensor would be, your stomach lurched as the door opened.

Sterile, crisp, industrial light flooded in, and you shook with something you couldn’t readily identify. He’d given you the freedom to leave his room, his cell, without him for the first time. Was he so sure that you wouldn’t run, that you were fully broken to his ownership?

The back-and-forth had ended when you didn’t think you had a choice or a chance to get away. You’d accepted the reality you’d been given because you didn’t believe there would ever be another. But Ren had changed the circumstances entirely. He’d uncorked the bottle, and your yearning for liberation gushed forth.

You could run, you thought. Certainly, somewhere in this monstrosity of a ship, you could find a weapon. You had always had the idea to murder your way out of this bondage; but now, you had the resolve, the courage of experience. You _could_ murder your way out. 

Your feet sped you down the hall, and your heart kicked up into a dangerous rhythm. As though you were chased by the devil himself, you blindly turned corners and ran down a seemingly endless number of corridors until you were hopelessly lost. You understood why Ren had simply opened the door. There was no actionable way for you to obtain your freedom when the thing you were trying to flee dwarfed entire star systems.

You were on the verge of giving up, about to disobey once again and ask someone to tell you where the fuck you were when you stopped dead in your tracks at the massive hangar. Awed, you stared at the mouth of the beast with the entire Galaxy of stars just beyond it. You sobered, balking because it was so close but still felt a million light years away. 

You would never get that far.

Your eyes drifted from container to droid to trooper to ship, amazed at the macrocosm contained in this great hall and the innumerable obstacles between you and release. Tense and troubled, you scanned and scanned for some beacon, some tangible thing you could point yourself at. 

When your eyes lit upon the _Night Buzzard_ , you nearly sunk to the floor, so relieved were you to see something familiar.

Cutting through traffic, you skimmed its perimeter carefully. This was Knights of Ren territory, and you didn’t know if you’d be welcome. Sliding your fingers along the hull, you ducked around and onto the ramp, pausing at the bottom for the two Knights there to stop you. To your shock, they allowed you to climb into the craft unmolested.

You wondered if the marks on your body served as your passport to this inner sanctum, and you tried to ignore the feeling that the Knights, that anybody, would recognize you as his.

Inside, you were overcome with a sense of profound ease, a longing slightly filled at being in something more distinct and compact than the hulking, never-ending thing that was the _Supremacy_. It was real and palpable.

Hugging yourself, you stepped through the littered pieces of the Knights' lives gingerly, taking great care not to disrupt anything lest you be relieved of a limb as penance. Coming upon the armory, you peeked around the entryway to find a being working at the stone table. You nearly couldn’t contain your excitement at seeing tools and weapons and bits and pieces of various projects.

This was a world you knew.

You plastered yourself to one wall and sunk down into the corner, cross-legged, to watch. This must be the weaponer for the Knights, you thought, and he worked like he could conjure all manner of destruction from chaos. You tracked him, his every gesture and decision, following his intent from tool to armor and working out the plan he seemed to be formulating.

When he noticed you, he flagrantly looked you over, lingering on the wounds at your neck and beckoning a blush at the memory that, no doubt, everyone on board the ship had heard you in the bathroom. 

He told you his name was Albrekh; but when he asked you for yours, you shook your head and touched your throat. You remembered the lesson too well. What had been given to you wasn’t yours to share. The two of you fell into an easy semblance of communication, pointing and nodding, and you were never so grateful for a forge, a work space.

Albrekh shared his meal with you and told you that he was the Sith alchemist and that it was he who had repaired Ren’s helmet. He was responsible for all of the armor and weapons the Knights wore and used. Compared to his vast knowledge and skills, you felt insignificant, humble. You were just a weaponer, a slave made useful. He was a Weapons Master.

You spent hours in that room, listening, watching, learning. When Ren found you there, you were sitting on the floor at Albrekh’s feet, holding various tools for him as he worked, keenly observing and committing his methods to memory. You didn’t spot your ruthless ruler, leaning against the hatch with folded arms, until his omnipresent voice interrupted the calm. 

"What are you doing here?" His tone was cold, eyes dark as he scrutinized what was happening.

You jumped, having been so absorbed in this beautiful, functional world inside the too-big universe that all else had been drowned out. Shaking your head ardently, trying to prove that you hadn't disobeyed, you lifted both hands to show him the plethora of tools and gadgets in your hands because Albrekh kept handing them to you.

“It’s time to go,” he said simply, turning away from the door and not bothering to wait to see if you would follow.

You heaved a tired sigh, carefully laying Albrekh’s tools on his stone table and pushing to your feet. The fire that had started to burn in your eyes dulled, resignation to living in a box as an object sliding back into your chest cavity.

Ren led you from the hangar back to his blaringly-white quarters silently, and you paused just outside at the very potential of all that stupid glare. Gloved fingers wrapped around your upper arm and drew you in as the lights dimmed.

“Better?”

His voice was melodic, melting your grief. He pulled you in and molded himself flush against you, dipping his head to kiss the carnal claim he’d left on you. Anguished, you pushed at his shoulders and tried to step away, intent upon disappearing into the shower so he couldn’t see you cry.

Having none of it, Ren trapped you by throat and teeth, the way he always did, always would, and you whimpered. You closed your eyes, thick lashes sweeping down to cover the gloss. Shaking your head, you splayed both hands across his chest because he’d won. You were here. You hadn’t run.

But you couldn’t pretend that being a doll kept in the package wouldn’t hurt.

“Ask for what you want, puppet,” he nuzzled your jaw. 

You blinked up at him, training your eyes upon his ebony nimbus. Your mind replayed the last two days and how he’d demanded you be specific. You also realized that when you were specific, he’d catered to your wish in some fashion. It hadn’t always been exactly what you’d imagined, but he’d responded to every request.

“I..” You unhooked yourself from his thumb and swallowed. “I don’t want to live in a box for you, Kylo,” you whispered, praying that if you didn’t say it too loud, he wouldn’t explode.

“No?” 

His fingers tightened around your throat, punctuating his capacity to end you right here and now, and he lifted you onto your toes until you squeaked. Clutching at his shoulders, you met his gaze and willed yourself into strength.

“No! For fuck’s sake, Kylo.” You twisted, trying to kick at his shins. “I’m not your damn doll. I’m a person, and I don’t want to spend every day trapped in this hole covered in your cum.”

His eyes flashed and dropped down to your body, roving over you even as he plundered your brain for the morning’s actions. His mongrel snarl, as he understood you hadn’t showered him, his scent, his sex, away before you dressed ignited a vulgar blaze in you. He dropped you suddenly only to tear at the shirt he’d given you just today.

He scooped you into his arms and buried his face into your neck, a satisfied hum tickling your skin as he inhaled the mingling of your musk and his. But you pushed at him again, cussing and trying to keep your brain on track, to get away so you could maintain your discontent.

Letting you squirm free, Ren's hand punched out and shoved you so hard that you hit the floor with a yelp. Finishing his plan, he tore off your pants and shoes until you were again naked, under his fucking thumb. 

“You’re not listening, pet,” he snarled and planted his massive, heavy boot upon your chest, launching you into memories of that fateful first day.

“Ask. For. What. You. Want.”

He leaned his weight onto that long, sculpted leg, and you gaped up at him. You would always be thunderstruck by how magnificent he was in his fury. 

Your chest and throat burned as you fought to breathe. You fisted both hands into his pants and reeled on a sob only for him to press further down into you. Your face screwed into a tormented mask, and you understood why he wore one.

“I- I want to work in the,” you paused to gulp in what little air you could, jerking under his foot, “forge. I want to work.”

He didn’t outright say no, and you clung to that fact. He wasn’t fooled with your first offering, though, and he stared down at you, calm and deliberate.

“Is that all?”

You nodded and pressed your lips into a hard line, unable or unwilling to make your mouth work. You couldn’t, would _not_ , say the words because they were ludicrous. It was a foolish girl’s fantasy, and you wouldn’t degrade yourself further by begging for the impossible. 

Ren stood to his full height, leaning back and glaring down at you. You thrashed, horrified, because you knew he was about to stand on your chest, and there was no way you survived that without broken ribs, punctured lungs. You clawed at his calf and twisted against the blastedly smooth floor.

“FINE. ALRIGHT?” You snapped and punched at his leg. “I want you to belong to me the way you've made me belong to you."

You wailed, grieving the loss of something you never even had.

"It's stupid, and I know it, but I want you to be mine, too."

Canting his head slightly, Ren looked down at you with something you likened to annoyance. He was put off by your stupidity, and you wanted to bite that aggravating look off of his face. Deft fingers caught your eye, though, as he unbuttoned, unbuckled, and peeled away his coat and shirt. 

You had been here before; you remembered this feeling. You glued your stare to his face, daring yourself to hold it only there.

Even through your false front, you quaked as he dropped down onto you, straddling your hips and fencing in your head with his arms. Raven curls tumbled down around his face, framing his beauty perfectly.

“Am I not?” 

His voice was low; it was the timbre he used to bookend the bombast of his violence. Ren was about to break you, you knew it to your very sinew, the way he invariably would. This bomb would fall, not with a bang but with a whisper, and it would alter the very foundation of your existence.

“Look,” he instructed, but you shook your head, not courageous enough to stray from his eyes. He brushed your quivering mouth with his thumb and nodded, urging you on. “Look.”

You felt the exact minute all of your molecules realigned, the breath in which the universe tilted. It was a momentous shift of gravity, the collision of two supernovas. Your body vibrated, unable to contain the thunderous rush of your blood, the roar in your ears, the tingle of every nerve. Nothing would ever be the same again. No planet, no star, no nebulous, looming black moon would escape unchanged.

Circling Ren’s neck, decorating the column just as you knew they would be, were twin bite marks, flourishing maroon, blue, and purple against his perfect alabaster skin.

You had been avoiding this very fact, knowing there was no coming back from it.

The other scratches and contusions, evidence of his bloody conquest, had faded. These bruises stood in such stark contrast to the rest of him that you couldn’t formulate a single word under their heaviness. He would never let your meticulously placed collar fade. He would bite and suck and pinch at the brand as long as he kept you, too pleased with his ownership to abandon it.

And that meant he would wear the match set just as long.

“Did you think an average person could affect me so?” He murmured it at you, searching your face for the moment clarity would break over your features.

“You do belong to me,” he brushed the end of your nose with his. “You aren't a person. You are my target, my cradle, my beautiful, fractured, unbreakable animal.”

You reached up to cover his lips with both hands, shaking your head because you couldn’t hear him say such things. You’d only ever heard him call you his object, his puppet, his whore. You couldn’t allow him to break you with his furious affection, but he tugged your hands away and dipped his face down to your throat.

“And I am your weapon, your gauntlet, the test of your strength.” 

You wept, but he licked at the angry contusion, nipping at the shell of your ear. You clutched at his thighs, fingers curling against the corded muscles and trying to find any bit of slack in the fiber to which you could cling.

“I will always break you, worship you until you are bruised and bloody,” he slanted his mouth over yours and stole your breath directly from the source. “Because only you have ever been able to survive me.”

Capturing both of your hands, he planted them on the floor above your head and secured them with the Force. Trailing his kisses down from your jaw, he sucked at your collarbone and palmed both swollen breasts, rolling the stiff nipples under calloused thumbs until you whined. He hadn’t ever explored your body so thoroughly, and you shivered at the implications.

His lush lips sealed around one distended peak and you curved up into his mouth on a curse. He curled his tongue around it, flicked at the bud repeatedly, and nipped a bite into the sensitive tip. You wanted to bury your fingers into his hair, to clutch at his shoulders or arms, to make some kind of contact.

“Kylo, please.”

The aching need in your voice astounded you, but you didn’t hide it from him. He’d fractured you open so many times before, there was no sense in it. He ignored you and bit at your belly, your hip. He wrapped both great hands around your ribs and squeezed, arching you upwards so only your shoulders and hips touched the floor. His hungry gaze slid over your body, his body, and he hummed into your abdomen.

"Hush." 

Ren traveled down, covering inch by torturous inch with his lips and tongue and ending his track when he pushed your thighs apart. As he had been doing for days, he claimed the space for himself and bent down to nuzzle his lips along your thigh, digging his fingers into the delicate insides. 

You forgot to breathe. Your heart stopped beating and all feeling left your body because this was virgin territory, uncharted waters. This disguised demon, this insatiable incubus was about to steal your soul from your cunt by feasting on it. As though you would share that meal with him, you could taste it, the sense that you wouldn’t be the same after.

Ren’s mouth connected with your flesh on a ravenous growl, and you shouted his name, both surprised and shaken with wanting. He covered every sticky bit of your pussy in loud, vulgar kisses, and you struggled against the invisible bond. He bit at the puffy lips and scooped his tongue through your slick, swallowing it down on a satisfied purr.

"I waited too long to taste you, pet." 

When he set himself to lapping at your engorged clit, you abandoned all hope of getting your hands free and focused on rocking your hips up to meet his tongue and lips. Your chest heaved with labored breath, and your throat dried out entirely from moaning and shrieking. He sucked at the bundle of nerves, sending your eyes rolling back into your head.

He edged further down, burying his perfect face into your wet cunt, and you dissolved into a sobbing, begging mess. Each thrust of his tongue drew a ragged plea, and each nudge of his nose against your clit shook you to your toes.

It was beyond intimate, a claiming unlike any other he’d put upon you, and you were helpless to do anything but feel, watch, endure. Your spine rattled with frenetic need, this overwhelming urge to relinquish everything to him.

"N-no...Kylo!" 

Ren returned his punishing mouth to your clit, pushing two thick fingers into your cunt, and you were gone. You knew he would punish you for it later, but there was no stopping the orgasm that blew through your weakened defenses and detonated in your core.

It was white lightning in your brain, tectonic quakes in your hips, and a great flood sweeping away rational thought. Your thighs spread wide, toes pushing at the floor, and you arched up painfully, hips rocking and bucking as you rode the surge. In the distance, you could hear him cursing and praising you for how fucking good you looked, but it was too far away to latch onto.

You were wholly washed away in this torrent of throb and pulse and ache, and you crashed onto a sobbing shore because, when the pleasure ebbed away, you felt empty, lacking without him filling you. You didn’t realize you were still begging until his lips met yours again, shushing your pleas.

His strong hands lifted and rolled you; and in seconds, he was under you, pulling you against his massive frame and smothering your pleas with kisses that tasted like you, like him, like a mix of both. 

"Open your eyes," he hooked his thumb into your teeth, yanking you into obedience.

You fought to look and gasped. He was again framed by soft tresses, but they were yours. Your thighs hugged his sides, but your knees were against the polished floor. You finally focused on him, and you stared, awestruck at the picture he painted.

He was flushed, harsh breath forcing his broad chest up and down on a fast tempo. His pink, pillowy lips were kiss swollen, and his eyes were wild, blown with desire and demand. For all of his take, for days and days of obliteration, Ren was giving you this, giving some measure of control, giving himself.

“One more, puppet,” he urged you onward, clutching at your hips and maneuvering you into place.

You expelled a terrified breath because, for the first time since you’d been here, you didn’t know what was going to happen next. How far was he willing to let you go? Spurred on by this window of power, you reached between your legs, lined up his immense cock, and sunk down onto it before you could talk yourself out of taking what he was offering.

He hissed, tipping his head back, as your slick, still quivering pussy enveloped him. He gripped your hips tight, but he didn’t move otherwise, letting you decide where the game would go now. His body was wide, and it splayed your thighs apart enough to burn at your hip joints, but you hugged his sides tight and reveled in the feeling.

“Fuck, Kylo,” you choked, rendered breathless and stupid by the sheer fullness of it.

You couldn't move, couldn't think beyond how incredible, how powerful and complete you felt. You had wondered if there was only take in his veins, but something else, always foreboding and lurking, had risen up at your bidding. You dug your fingers into his pecs, staring down as though you could see the heart beating within.

“I’m losing my patience, pet,” he gritted the words out from behind gnashing teeth. “Move.”

The urgency in his voice drew your focus, and you nodded, rocking your hips against him and relishing the pleasured groan he rewarded you with. You leaned forward, steadying yourself on his shoulders, and thrust against him, using this newfound leverage to bounce on his rigid cock until you shouted.

Ren wrapped both hands around your middle, holding you steady and watching his dick disappear into your body. You could see in his eyes that he was quickly losing the fight to give you the reigns; it was written all over his face how much he wanted to take control and pommel you into a drooling, empty headed wretch.

Lowering your chest to his, you mirrored his grip, knees at his hips and fingers at his sides. Capturing his mouth on a scorching kiss, you licked and sucked at his tongue until his fingernails dug into your hips. When you were sure he was seconds away from giving up this endeavor, you brushed the softest “please” against his lips and gripped the undersides of his arms.

The feral sound that tore from his throat curled your toes, and he tangled his fist into a tight mess in your hair. He clawed at one hip, using your very flesh as his handle, and pounded up into you, inundating your mouth, your throat, your clit with the Force. It slid over and into every part of you, a point well proven. 

You’d only ever had what power he’d given you. 

His raw domination pulled you under, and you succumbed fully to him, the sensations tumbling too quickly together for you to name. He was your smell, your taste, your sight, your feeling, and your body strung impossibly tight for him, eliciting a caught breath and a grunt at the constriction of your pussy. 

You floated, eyes drifting shut in flight as the endorphins inundated your body, as the Force fucked your every atom. He growled and slapped you, less vicious than on that first day but just as effective. He could follow you into that flight now, but he was still unwilling to let you go before he was ready. An angry snarl ravaged your face, but your eyes did fix upon him, nails digging into his sides.

“Look at me.”

His hips never slowed, the invisible deluge never eased, and the hunger in his eyes never wavered. He wrapped dangerous fingers around your neck, squeezing tight to feel the drum of your pulse, and slapped you again.

“Say it,” his voice was all command now, and you were arrested to your very marrow. “Say it and mean it.”

The impact of your time in Ren’s captivity broke over you like thunder. The first taste of his skin. The sting and crack of his belt. The taste of his weapon and the first feeling of his teeth. The spilling of your blood and the way it looked on him. Suicide, surgery, and murder. The woman in the mirror who looked at you with his eyes.

All of it coalesced into one, cohesive, singular truth.

“I’m yours, Kylo,” you supplicated, unraveling against him for a second time. “Only yours.”

Riding your submission, the orgasm hit you so strongly that you couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. There was no light, no sensation, no time. There was only Kylo, his aggressive, profane manipulation of the Force, and his relentless demand for every drop of who you were. 

In giving him exactly what he wanted, you fell headlong into what you were capable of, and the unstoppable drive of your feeling and pleasure radiated outwards, catching Ren up in its wake.

You heard him roar, felt him tighten and loosen with a shudder, tasted the heat of his kiss, but it was all so overwhelming. The world came barreling back into your every pore, and everything was too bright, too loud. You buried your face into the very center of his chest to hide; but from who or what, you couldn’t tell.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, but Ren tapped your chin, tilting your face up until you looked at him. Carefully, he sat up and unwound you from the pillar he was and helped you stand with him. He kissed your forehead and told you to stay right there, but you doubted you’d be able to actually accomplish that feat. You were about to sit back down when he caught you about the waist and tugged you further into the room.

He led you to an obsidian column erected before the giant window looking out into the vast expanse of space. You knew that window hadn't been meant for you, but it soothed your wanderlust, the deep need you had for nature.

Tucking you into the crook of his body, Ren dropped a small, black leather bag into the palm of your hand and pulled open the tie.

Inside the basin, his intimidating helmet sat atop what could only be ashes, presiding over the dead. Your forehead furrowed in confusion. You didn’t know what this was or what you were supposed to do. He pressed his lips to your temple, speaking quietly against the gentle heartbeat.

“The ashes of those who have fallen before me,” he offered, drawing a line in the collected soot. 

“The ashes of those who have fallen before you,” he tightened your trembling fingers around the bag. 

Ren enveloped you, wrapping the whole, immeasurable scope of himself around you, and directed your hand over the basin. His touch was battle-tender, calloused, and he threaded his fingers between yours, turning your hand slowly and pouring one into the other. 

Your knees buckled at the magnitude of the moment, but he held you firm, guiding your hand with his to dip into the ashes and mix them.

You turned to look up at him, astounded at the universe for creating such a man. He brushed his thumb across your mouth, smudging a line of ashes there. Ren licked your lips open and kissed you, soft but purposeful, sharing the taste of the conquered with you in a way you were sure he never had or would with another.

You melted into him and marveled. This was not the same man as even yesterday. He was just as cruel, just as exacting and unbending, but he was not careless or uncaring. He was no longer a dead man wearing an animated mask but a living, breathing, cataclysmic deity made flesh.

A Supreme Leader who would conquer every world just as he was meant to.

It was a new age with truly limitless possibilities. 

In 1o days, the Galaxy had been remade by a Child God and his Sacred Whore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, kids. I have put so very much into this story, and I am incredibly proud of it. Thanks for coming on this journey with me, and I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have. Until the next time. ;)


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